An Ideal of Blades: Reality Marble
by PaleRider365
Summary: Sirius's death at the Department of Ministries left a permanent mark on Harry. Now with memories he doesn't understand and powers he cannot comprehend, can he still claim to be Harry Potter? At the Headmaster's insistence, he travels to Fuyuki City, the origins of his memories. Will he find his answers? And if he does, will he still be able to call himself a Wizard?
1. EMIYA

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim of ownership over Fate/stay night, and Harry Potter. They belong to their respective owners.

**Author's Note:** Due to a malfunction in which gods no longer existed in the nasuverse, what was once a Percy Jackson fanfic has now moved to Harry Potter where origins are more malleable.

**Quote:** "Do not think about other things, there is only one thing you can do. So master that one thing. Do not forget. What you must imagine is always that you, yourself, are the strongest. You do not need outside enemies. For you, the one you have to fight is none other than your own image." – Archer

**An Ideal of Blades: Reality Marble**

**EMIYA**

Hero.

They were anomaly's in the world that the world both praised and hated for their actions and labors for the benefit of humanity and their patrons. He could attest to that more than possibly any hero save those that knew betrayal at its greatest. Heroes could not be understood by humanity. And humanity reveled and feared them for it. He had known going into the Department of Ministries that sacrifices were a likelihood and death was immensely possible. He had gone in there with friends that stood beside him with the knowledge that he was condemning them to a life of hiding and death. They had accepted that he would go without them, and to ensure his own safety, they ventured into the abyss by his side with the promise that if they died, there efforts wouldn't be in vain. But as he watched one of his most beloved comrades fall in the heat of battle and through a veil unknown, his mind was unable to handle the strain.

Sirius Black. He was his godfather and only family member in the world that hosted a rare anomaly among mortals, wizards. His name alone sent shivers down the spines of any wizard that knew of his legend but all his name did to his godson was send warmth into his heart. Sirius Black was an individual who accepted hatred instead of love, and dishonor instead of righteousness. By all rights, he should have been able to raise his godson, but due to the machinations of someone he called a friend, he had been imprisoned and his godson lost to him. But he was a Wizard, and a highly competent one at that. He had escaped that prison with the sole intention of protecting Harry James Potter from the forces of Lord Voldemort. It was not a reason spawned simply because of the boy's heritage. No, it was a reason created because the simple fact was that his godson was all he had left in the world.

Harry never knew the touch of a loving family. He didn't know if such a privilege had mattered to him at such a young age. He was a human boy, despite how many believed otherwise, and human children needed love and nurturing, all of which he had been denied. It was a wonder that he even came out as good as he had. Most individuals who suffered abuse came out well with several easy to notice problems that effected their lives, and others converted themselves to a life of evil and lived to destroy all of which they were denied during their time of innocence. But instead of the villain he should have become… he refrained to an ideology spawned from time. Instead of the villain the stories foretold, he became the hero that they praised and it was something that Sirius desired to protect and make stronger.

Harry didn't have the necessities to survive the war. He had spells, he could probably even get his hand on a couple magical artifacts, but the fact in case was that he was painstakingly average in every other aspect of magic save Defence against the Dark Arts. He didn't possess Hermione's brains, or Ron's strategic mind. He didn't possess Ginny's refined skill, or even Neville's bravery. He couldn't see underneath of everything like Luna could. All he could do was fight. And love. That was his greatest strength. His ability to love was something Dumbledore praised. It was a weapon that had defeated Voldemort twice over. It was something everyone considered to be his greatest weapon. But the wisest of men knew that a weapon could be turned against the owner, and even wiser men acknowledged that love was as twisted as it was beautiful. It could give a person great strength, or break them completely.

And as Sirius Black fell through the archway, something within the mind and soul of Harry Potter was destroyed permanently.

_That's all I wanted to say. There is nothing at the end of helping people. It is a false life that can save neither yourself nor others._

Heat. He could feel it all around him as if a giant blaze was swallowing him whole. Emerald green eyes centered on coal black ones as their owner fell into the veil with a content smile on his face. The fire threatened to burn him alive even as the tears started to flow.

_When I was little, I wanted to be a hero._

The blaze increased and he found himself struggling for air as the fires of the world fell upon him, giving him the perfect image of Hell. His mind screamed for the image to disappear, for it all to be just a lie meant to break him and make him malleable for Voldemort. He was in Hell. There could be no other possible solution to what he was seeing. He had already braved the fires in the past – or was it really his past? He lived another torture. His arms reached for something, anything, to grab the man as he passed through the veil and into the underworld where spirits linger.

_But I realized that that dream would be impossible for me to keep as I grew older. You can only be a hero for a limited time before you realize that you cannot save everyone._

He dropped to his knees, the sound echoing across the chamber like the call of death and he could only watch as the last family he had left crossed into the afterlife with no apparent regrets or resistance. It seemed to take years for the man to fall. There was fear for a single second on his godfather's face before it was replaced with a smile reserved only for his godson. He fell through the veil, disrupting it for a single moment, before it returned to normal.

"HAHAHA! I KILLED SIRIUS BLACK!" Bellatrix screamed triumphantly as she cackled with delight at her cousin's fate. After so many years, the desire to end that accursed blood traitor of a Black Head had finally been satisfied. The look on the Potter boy's face made it all the more sweeter. That look of pure devastation sent shivers of glee down her spine and she threw her head back in terrifying laughter. " He's dead! He's DEAD! The stupid mutt finally kicked the bucket!"

"Sirius," Harry whispered. "Sirius…"

_Since you couldn't fulfill your dream, I'll do it for you! You're an adult now, so you can't go on anymore. But I'm still young, I can still make your dream happen. Leave your dream to me._

He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't understand anymore. Sirius, the person he held closest to his heart, was simply gone. A part of him screamed to rush through the veil and pull him out. Bellatrix hadn't fired a killing curse, he could still be alive. But that screaming part of him was silenced as the rationale part of him simply mourned. The archway, despite not truly understanding its nature, was the end of all things. There was no living creature behind it, and Sirius Black, no matter of a decent person he had been in life, was no exception. His godfather and the dreams he left behind in the world had been erased in an instant.

_Saving someone means not saving someone else._

There was fighting all around him and he could hear every spell that passed from everyone's lips. He could hear the explosions nearby and he could hear the screams of everyone that was hit. But to him, the noise was meaningless. Sirius was dead. He could hear the cries of the Headmaster's name and he had an inkling that the old man had arrived on the battlefield, but he didn't care about that. Sirius was dead. He felt the tough hands of Remus Lupin jerk him upward in an attempt to pull him away from the fighting. But he didn't care. Sirius was dead. He heard the laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange as she fired spell after spell on the Order before Dumbledore could attempt to subdue her. He could hear her relish for the death of others. He could feel her love for murder. He could feel the joy she held from killing innocents and their defenders. His life had no meaning. Saving someone meant not saving someone else. It was a sentence he had heard from somewhere but could not recall. Sirius had saved him, but at the cost of not being able to save himself. And his murderer still lived.

_I'm going to be a hero for you!_

There was no justice in that! He wrenched away from the werewolf's grip in a surprising display of strength, not even glancing at his hand as his wand materialized in his grip. For a split second, green eyes were replaced by steel grey and he stood up with a grace that was not his own. He ignored the cry of his name from his comrades and rushed forward toward the object of his hatred. "SHE KILLED SIRIUS! – I WILL KILL HER!"

Bellatrix looked toward him in surprise before giggling. "I KILLED SIRIUS BLACK!" She spun around quickly before making her escape from the scene, Harry hot on her heels as he fired hex after hex, and curse after curse. She would pay. She had to pay. Sirius was innocent. Sirius hadn't deserved to die that way! His ideals begged him to slaughter her and he would gladly comply. She was a monster. There was no path of redemption for someone that didn't seek it. The Wizarding world claimed he was hero, and he would do what all heroes, all true heroes, were supposed to do.

Harry had never experienced an emotion like this. He had believed that he hated the Dursley's for their abuse. He believed he hated Dumbledore for withholding things from him. He believed he hated Sirius for abandoning him again. He believed he hated Voldemort for killing his parents. But now he understood. This desire – this urge to kill another being – this was true hatred. He would have liked to say that this emotion – this ugly desire – was unknown to him. But deep down inside, he knew the startling truth. He did not know when or how, but somehow, he had felt this hatred before. This overlying emotion to kill someone was something he was terribly familiar with, and unlike last time – was there a last time? – there would be no one to prove him wrong this time. His hatred coincided with his desire for justice. If this woman died, hundreds, maybe thousands of lives would be spared. That was the ideology of a true hero. That was his ideology.

_It feels so close to me, yet I can't reach it even if I hold out my hands. But even if I can't reach it, there are things that will stay in my heart. Being in the same time and looking at the same sky. If I can remember that, then even if we are far apart, I believe we can still be together._

"Sirius," his body moved with ferocity unparalleled and his wand glowed with each hex fired off as more and more magical power flowed through his body. He skidded to halt as he found Bellatrix waiting for him in the Ministry Atrium. That twisted, deranged smile on her face made his blood boil. He was only fast enough to move a fraction as a cutting curse destroyed his glasses. Not a sign of fear or surprised existed on his face as his glasses collapsed to the ground before shattering into a thousand pieces. His green eyes were dulled, almost emotionless.

"Are you going to stand there, little Harry?" she taunted in a mock baby voice that echoed off the wooden floors of the Atrium. "Have you come to do me in? Are you going to release all that hate on me? I thought you were here to avenge my dear cousin?"

"I will kill you." Harry murmured. "I will kill you and make sure that you regret ever putting on that disgusting tattoo on your wrist. Not even Voldemort will protect you."

Bellatrix hissed in anger. "How dare you speak his name, half-blood filth?" her face was a mask of pure disgust before reverting back to that deranged grin she seemed to sport. "The little half-blood is angry. Aaaah… did you love him, little baby Potter?"

The anger he had been holding back spilled through like a tidal wave. He moved with unnatural speed, the spell already leaving his lips. _"Expelliarmus!"_ The woman made no act to defend herself as her wand was slapped aside by Harry's spell. If anything, the grin she sported only grew larger as if she knew something that Harry did not. The mere thought sent him into a rage. "_Crucio!"_

That grin slipped off her face immediately. Bellatrix screamed as the spell lifted her off her feet and she writhed and shrieked in pure agony. The spell had been unnaturally strong, almost devastatingly so and he found the dark whispers of its influence attempting to pierce his mind. He almost dropped his wand in horror at what he had done. He had meant to kill her in one blow. But to use this curse… it was unbearable and unbecoming of someone who proclaimed to be a hero or someone attempting to be one. He was so deep in his thoughts that he almost didn't hear Bellatrix's voice.

"You've never used an Unforgivable, have you boy?" she giggled excitedly as she pushed herself upward. There was no sign that the curse had truly affected her at all. "I'll admit that you have the potential to use it to its fullest capabilities, but you need to mean it, brat! That righteous anger of yours is pathetic compared to the desire to kill. You can't use it because you don't mean it. But don't worry. Auntie Bellatrix will show you the way."

He had no time to react as the spell hit him. The sheer intensity of his own dark thoughts had scared him into submission and there was nothing he could do as he found himself writhing on the floor in pure agony as Bellatrix had done mere moments before. His wand skidded across the Atrium, far from his reach, and far enough that the sadistic witch could have her way with him without worrying about a hex to the face in a sneak attack. He had come here intending to kill this witch, but for the wrong reasons and that is why he was losing.

_An ideal is only an ideal after all. As long as you embrace that ideal, the friction with reality will continue to increase. So you will someday face reality and will have to pay the price for your compromises._

He screamed again as she repeated the spell. His muscles, his very nerves begged for release, for something to end his suffering, but his mind quelled them. If he died here, more innocents would follow him into the afterlife and their blood would stain his hands because he was too weak to act, too weak to become a hero like he supposedly was.

"Is this lesson good enough for you, baby Potter?" she screamed in fiendish delight. "_Crucio!"_ she positively beamed when his screams reached her ears. It was like music to her. But still, there were things that needed to be done. She had to separate work from pleasure, even if this pleasure was positively orgasmic in her eyes. "I'll give you a gift Potter, but only if you give me on in return. I allow you to leave here with your pathetic life, and in exchange, you give me the prophecy that my master so lovingly desires. How about it, brat?"

He could only grin grimly as blood poured from his mouth like a fountain. So she hadn't realized the truth, had she? Sirius's words from his vision came to mind and he found it oddly fitting to repeat them to his murderer. "You're going to have to kill me." the scar on his forehead seemingly ignited and he found that the pain was far worse than even Bellatrix's spells. But unlike her, he knew just how to resist this monster. "The prophecy your pathetic master wants is gone, Bellatrix. I smashed it in front of your dear brother in law's eyes before firing a spell in between them." He let out a laugh sadistic as her own and she bit back the skin crawling fear that suddenly encompassed her. That kind of laugh shouldn't come out of the mouth of a teenager. "Want to know something better? Your snake of a master knows and he's coming for you."

It suddenly dawned on her as she watched the twitching brat, spilling his own blood from his lips in a sort of glee that came with a man's dying breath. Her master would not be pleased. No, it would be more appropriate to say that he would be furious and she would most likely be punished – or killed even. Her eyes were wild as she raised her wand. "YOU LITTLE BRAT! I'LL KILL YOU – AVADA KEDAVRA!"

He allowed a chuckle to escape his lips as time seemingly slowed. He was going to die. At this point it was inevitable and he couldn't do anything to prevent his untimely demise. If Bellatrix didn't kill him, Voldemort would. It wasn't like he had much to live for anyway. He couldn't follow up to his ideals and he couldn't avenge Sirius. This was what exactly he deserved for his failure as a protector. A soft smile appeared and he closed his eyes in preparation. There was no wonder that he was so calm in the face of death. His soul would just be recycled again and he'd be summoned by someone to compete in the next war… his eyes snapped open. His nerves screamed in violent protest as something invaded his body against his will and willed him to do something.

_I am the bone of my sword_.

Words could not possibly describe this feeling of raw, unadulterated strength and pain. It coursed through his body and his veins, yet pierced his soul as well. He couldn't describe the feeling because no one knew it but him and he had not felt anything like it. His circuits – what were those? – had been activated and he felt more complete than ever possible.

"Trace on."

Those words that escaped his lips held much and no meaning to him at the same time. He bit back the scream that ravaged him as his hands suddenly opened against his will in a grabbing motion, as if one of them was waiting for something to appear. His eyes widened. It happened in an instant so fast that had he not been the cause of it, he never would have believed what followed that strange feeling. A familiar silver, ruby encrusted sword materialized in his hands and he swung it without preamble, no hesitation in those eyes of his.

He watched with a strange fascination as Bellatrix's wand arm was sliced cleanly through the bone like butter. The witch could only watch as her arm fell to the ground, the curse on the wand disappearing without her magic. She eyed her bloody stump, watching as blood spurted uncontrollably, some of it spraying Harry in the face, and she screamed. The sword of Godric Gryffindor was nowhere to be seen and had it not removed Bellatrix's wand arm, he wouldn't have believed that it was there to begin with. The woman rolled around on the ground like she was possessed, screaming uncontrollably. He coughed out a spurt of blood before slowly dragging himself to his feet, making sure not to make any sudden movements lest he catches her ire.

Oddly enough, the sight of blood did not bother him as him using the Cruciatus curse did. It was like he had seen enough blood before that it didn't bother him anymore. The mere thought gave him a massive headache that had him stumbling and he almost collapsed before reaching his wand. Something was terribly wrong with him. How had he summoned the Sword of Gryffindor? Why did he keep hearing strange voices in his head. And now, why he was he seeing these strange visions? First it was the fire, but now as he looked at Bellatrix, a tanned face with sharp greys met his own before being replaced with the frothing witch. His hand wrapped tightly around the wood of his wand and he fell on his back, his body suddenly fatigued by that strange power he had displayed.

But not even his injuries could put him down for long. He rolled limply to his side before staggering upward, his grip on his wand tightening to the point where his palms bled. If he had been able to think clearly like he used to, he might have realized what his body was pushing him to do. He may have realized that had Sirius not died, this would be an action he would have gagged at and been ashamed of. But he did feel something. He would have to cast away that innocence. This woman, this monster in human flesh, had murdered countless amounts of people and tortured Neville's parents into insanity. To save the lives of thousands, one had to pay the price in blood.

He pointed his wand directly at her skull with the finesse of a wizard beyond his years. He couldn't care how much this act disgusted him. It had to be done. "It's over…"

Bellatrix's eyes snapped open in fear the moment they fell upon the sharp end of the boy's wand, its point glowing a dastardly green color. This brat was Dumbledore's servant, his whipping boy. He would not kill her. That went against everything the old man was teaching him. And yet, as her eyes went to those cold emerald ones of his, she was beginning to doubt that he was Dumbledore's man through and through. This brat – no, to call him a brat now would be a lie – this man was going to end her life and he wasn't going to regret it. He would do the deed to ensure that no Mudbloods and Blood Traitors died by her hand again.

"Master," she sobbed. "I'M SORRY MASTER! I TRIED, I TRIED – HE'S GOING TO KILL ME, MASTER! FORGIVE ME!"

Harry's frown grew and to an observer, his face grew more distant. The green light on the end of his wand grew in power as he mentally chanted the words that killed his parents and many others in his head. Was this what he wanted? This was going to be a war. Blood was guaranteed to be spilled. Cedric and Sirius were clear proof of that. The green light changed to a fiery magenta. No, he would most definitely end her here. He had no choice on the matter. But he wouldn't do it in the same way that she and Voldemort had murdered the people he loved. That would be a dishonor to their memory.

"There won't be any forgiveness where you're going," Harry said softly. Those green eyes of his had turned into glaciers. "When you see Sirius, give him my regards._ Incendio –"_

"How deliciously dark, Potter." Said a high, cold voice that echoed across the wooden floor of the Atrium. Harry's spell dissipated before he could deal the final blow. Harry felt the pain in his scar disappear and he knew that his greatest enemy had decided to make an appearance. "I never would have believed you to be so murderous had I not seen it with my own eyes."

The Dark Lord was tall, thin, and covered in black hooded robes that seemingly blended with the cold darkness that had overtaken the Atrium due to his mere presence. The blood red slit pupil eyes that haunted Harry's dreams gazed at him with a sense of wonder as a curious frown crossed his gaunt, snakelike features. "How pitiful, Bella. I expected more from someone who claimed to be my most faithful servant. I know the truth, Bella. He outsmarted you and destroyed my prophecy. All those months of planning and preparation gone to waste because my Death Eaters couldn't even defeat a single boy and a group of school children."

His gaze traveled to the pool of blood that soaked under his servant and the useless stump where her arm used to be. A single glance several feet more revealed a lone arm standing in its own puddle of blood, a wand firmly in its grip. The Dark Lord was hesitant to admit that he would have liked to learn the story around how that had exactly occurred. He didn't need to look at Potter's mind to know that it was the boy that had committed the deed. "You even let him bring you to this state, Bella? I wonder what you did to bring the boy past Dumbledore's useless ideals. But that does not matter. He raised his wand with the grace of a master and craned his neck toward Harry's direction. "Watch and learn, Potter." He pointed his wand at Bellatrix's forehead, ignoring her gasp of surprise. "I have no need for useless servants. As it stands now, Pettigrew has more worth than you. AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The sound of her head hitting the cold wooden floor echoed in the room and the being known as Bellatrix Lestrange had finally ceased. Harry's emerald eyes never once looked away from the cold body of the woman he had declared that _he_ would kill. The surprised look on her face at the time of her death would stay in his mind for years to come. Voldemort on the other hand paid no heed to his servant's corpse and merely scoffed in disapproval. He had no use for slaves that couldn't even take care of one boy correctly. And the fact that she had attempted to kill _his_ quarry, the boy destined to duel him! It infuriated him and for that end, Bellatrix had to be punished. Unfortunately for her, he was not feeling merciful and her punishment was death.

"As for you, Harry," Voldemort cast his wand in Harry's direction, an ominous green color pulsing from it similar to Harry's wand only moments ago. "You have cost me a servant and have been a pain in my side ever since you were born. The damage you did to Bellatrix proves that you have some measure of power, and if nurtured, could one day prove a threat to me. I cannot risk that. Pity, you could have been much under my guidance."

Harry didn't bother resisting what he knew was going to happen. His wand clattered to the floor as he desperately looked for the power that he had somehow summoned earlier and found it to be incredibly lacking. Whatever had happened seemed like it was only going to be a onetime thing. If there was only something he could damn do! No wait –

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The words! He remembered the words! And as the green light fell upon him, he crossed his arms over his chest in a defending position, despite how meaningless it was. Chances are that this wasn't going to work and he was going to die. "Trace on."

He only watched in amazement as the Sword of Gryffindor materialized in his hands once more as the green jet of light collided against it in an explosion of light and power. Due to the light of the killing curse, the Dark Lord only saw a glint of silver appear next to the boy before he was almost blown back from the explosion of dark magic.

Harry gritted his teeth as the pulse of green light clashed with his blade, burrowing his feet into the wood floor as it pushed him backwards. So his plan had worked and whatever this tracing thing was, it responded to his call, his wish. He could feel it in the back of his head. The Sword of Gryffindor answered his call, but even he understood that this wasn't the true blade. His body screamed in agony when he spoke those words and it felt like parts of his body that he never used before were being strained to the point of no return. His eyes narrowed on the blade.

The sword cracked.

So this was how death was like? To stare at the cold darkness in the eyes and spit upon it? Harry absentmindedly smiled despite himself. It was almost like he was reliving a memory. His defeat here was foretold, but at least he made Voldemort work for it. Even now he could feel his magic working overtime to keep the blade solid. It was worthless.

The sword broke.

Harry could only watch as the blade shattered like glass as the green light burst through it, ready to finish what it had started nearly fifteen years ago. His smile grew. He wasn't breathing, he wasn't begging for mercy. There was only peace. And as the darkness encroached his vision the minute the curse came in contact with his body, he couldn't deny that he hadn't felt this happy in a long time. Maybe had he loved himself more, this wouldn't have happened. But there was no point in lamenting about the past. And with a smile on his face, Harry James Potter of Wizarding Britain let the void take him.

X

He was alone in complete silence. There was no one but him in this strange place. No one's presence existed but his own. He wasn't exactly sure that he existed in this place himself if he was honest. There was no pain in his body and as far as he could feel, there was nothing that could damage him either. It was complete harmony. His green eyes opened. His surroundings were covered by a black smog and cloudy vapor and unlike the white and gorgeous setting many church goers had told him about the afterlife, all he could see where giant gears and cogs for miles on all end working in unison. However, the cogs and gears didn't disturb him as much as what surrounded him.

He was surrounded by over a thousand blades, each stabbed into the ground with the hilt and pommels pointing upward majestically. He coughed, and found it odd that even in death, such ailments could affect him. The place was incredibly hot and he found it difficult to breathe. Difficult, not unmanageable. He took a glance down at his body. He was still in the same clothes that he had died in, but they were unscathed from the many battles he had fought in, and every scar he had gained on his skin was unseen, replaced with a smoothness reminiscent of a baby's skin.

He looked around, taking everything in with a fine eye. The longer he gazed at this strange place, the more a familiar headache he had in life appeared and he couldn't prevent the stray chuckle that escaped him. Apparently, even spirits suffered from headaches. He smiled despite himself and began to move. The scenery was terribly familiar to him and with each blade he looked at, he could tell that there was a history to each of them and their stories filled his mind. His gaze lingered on several swords that held deep longing from him, but he did not move toward them like his spirit demanded. Instead, he moved toward a sword that made more sense to him than the others. Stabbed deep into the ground lay the Sword of Gryffindor, its silver blade polished and clean.

He was slightly afraid of the blade. How did it follow him into the afterlife like this? Was this simply a manifestation of his dreams, or had the real blade truly been a part of him. Despite his fears, he drew slowly nearer the blade. Soon, he was close enough to touch the pommel and yet he found himself resisting, as if something in his mind begged for him not take the blade from the ground lest something terrible happened. It was almost as if his spirit begged for him to move on, to not take the sword and learn of its secrets. But unfortunately, Harry had never been the one to be truly scared from things that could hurt him. No innocent people were near, and none of his friends were in this place. He could touch this blade and no one but him would suffer the consequences. With that in mind, he wrapped his hands around the blade and pulled upward.

The moment the blade left the ground, his surroundings changed. What was once a wide open space filled with unlimited blades, was replaced by an outdoor setting. It was a beautiful setting, he had to admit. The night sky was out and the stars shined royally. The moon itself was absolutely beautiful tonight. He reckoned the werewolves would enjoy this night. The moon was full and large, unhidden by the clouds that made every effort to hide the celestial image from the eyes of humans.

"Hey." A childish, but ultimately endearing voice sounded behind him and he spun around quickly, his hand already looking for either his wand or the sword. The second his eyes fell upon the scene, any desire to fight in his defense disappeared. "Hey, Jii-san."

He knew the scene before his eyes met the brown ones of the boy. The brat was probably everything he ever wanted to be as a kid and the boy sat next to a haggard, raven haired man, who looked at him with a fond smile reserved for a child from their parents. The little red head didn't sound angry in the slightest and Harry knew for a fact that he wasn't. He was more amused than anything else, as if the man had done something that was common between them.

"If you're going to sleep, you can do it in your bed." The boy said and upon hearing his voice clearly, Harry already knew his name. The boy – the boy's name was Shirou. The little kid grinned at the man he considered his father figure and Harry felt a deep pang of pain from the mere sight of it.

"Right," the older man agreed tiredly before shifting gears like a man possessed. He offered Shirou a small smile. "Nah, I'm fine." A comfortable silence stretched between them before he resumed speaking and Harry found himself unable to look away from the scene. "When I was little, I wanted to be a hero." They were the words of a man who had lost everything and Harry had found it difficult to swallow. Those words, those very words had been the exact words he had heard when Sirius died.

Shirou tilted his head in curiosity. "What?" he questioned. "You _wanted_ to be a hero? Did you give up or something, Jii-san?"

Harry felt emotional for reasons he couldn't say accurately for anyone to understand. This wasn't a vision the afterlife was giving to him. This vision was a _memory_. He had no idea how the knowledge came to him but it did and he wanted to protest at the boy's words. This man hadn't given up on being a hero. The world had taken that choice from him!

"Yeah," the man agreed. His name was something dear and precious to Harry and he knew it immediately. Kiritsugu, that was his name. He didn't understand it, but this name to him was synonymous with James and that was synonymous with father. "It's unfortunate, but… being a hero is a limited time thing. When you grow up and see the world as it is, it gets hard to call yourself one." He shook his head and his eyes, his empty eyes showed a fraction of regret. "I should have realized that sooner.

Harry fell to his knees, his mouth open in a silent scream as pain invaded his body the moment the boy – Shirou – let out his reply. "I see," he said with all the professionalism that a child his age could possess. "That's just too bad then."

Kiritsugu agreed. "Indeed, Shirou." A wistful smile crossed his lips. "You're absolutely right." He let out a deep sigh and as Harry writhed on the floor, he could the aura of death that surrounded them all. Kiritsugu's eyes were starting to dim. The man gazed at the moon like it would be his last. "The moon's really beautiful tonight."_ Just like her,_ was the thought he wisely kept silent.

Shirou agreed with a nod. "Yeah, it really is." He turned his head to look at his adopted father with a smile that held an unbendable promise. Harry found his lips in sync with the boy's even as he cried in pain and agony. "**Since you couldn't do it, I'll do it for you."**

Kiritsugu's eyes widened.

"**Jii-san is an adult now, so he can't do it."** The boy claimed sadly and Harry found that he couldn't look away, no matter how much his soul screamed for him to do so.** "But I'm still young. I can still do it for you. Leave your dream to me, Jii-san."**

Something exploded in Harry's heart as Kiritsugu's eyes dimmed, a great weight released from his shoulders from a single sentence. That promise that Shirou – that _he_ made had been created, a pact that could never be broken. And yet Harry could only watch in horror because he knew that nothing would be the same and that everything that had turned him into something he had once regretted had returned to him and he knew who he was in soul.

Kiritsugu's eyes closed as his shoulders sagged. "Yeah," he smiled despite himself. "I can be at peace now. I can see her now…"

The moment that Kiritsugu died was the moment that Shirou – Harry Potter – had finally accepted his role in life and in death. The setting exploded in shattered glass as Shirou made to grab his father figure and Harry fell into the abyss. He did nothing to prevent his fall. He did nothing because somewhere deep inside him, something vital had been twisted… _distorted_ beyond repair. The damage from the fire had destroyed him, but the death of Kiritsugu had sealed the deal and as he fell, he knew that the chances of him ever fulfilling that promise were nigh impossible. So he let himself fall.

He opened his eyes when a strong grip wrapped around his wrist. His green eyes traveled upward from black covered feet upward a body covered in crimson and black. He saw tanned skin and hair white as now pull him upward. And when green eyes met steel grey, he woke up.

X

Despair filled the heart of one Albus Dumbledore as he did battle with his former student in the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic. He fought with a ferocity that the Dark Lord did not believe existed with him, and each curse fired off his wand was created to maim and destroy his former student. Their battle and sheer magic was destroying the Ministry from the inside out. Rage filled his movements, and rightful anger filled his vision. The Dark Lord had to pay, he needed to die not only for the people he had killed in the past, but because of the boy he had cursed to fight him in the end.

The body of Harry Potter lay cold on the floor of the atrium, his skin white as the snow and his heartbeat completely nonexistent. The boy had died because he had arrived too late and had given Voldemort enough time to strike him down. He had known in the end that Harry Potter would have to die to destroy Voldemort, but he hadn't been prepared for the cost. He hadn't suspected that it would hurt this much to lose the boy to his former student like this. Now that was an interesting thought. He, Albus Dumbledore, had always loved his students, but Harry, Harry had been a grandson to him, the son he couldn't have due to everything that had happened in his life. To see someone he considered his own flesh and blood murdered like that had been too much. Ariana had died because of him, and now Harry had followed her into death. It was a groundbreaking revelation. The old man had been prepared for Harry's death, but he hadn't been prepared for his own feelings.

Damn it!

"Oh, are you trying to actually kill me, old man?" Voldemort taunted. He lashed out another Cruciatus in the hopes that it would actually hit its target. "Are you angry that after fifteen years, I finally paid the brat back for the damage he did to me on Halloween?"

"_Protego Horribilis_," Albus mumbled under his breath, brushing aside the Cruciatus with a spell of his own, an advanced version of the original Protego. It had been a long time since Albus had ever considered killing someone. "Harry was innocent. He did not deserve to die at your hands, Tom. The boy was INNOCENT!"

Voldemort laughed. "Innocent? I wouldn't call what he did to my poor Bella innocent," he said, gesturing to the witch's corpse not too far from them. The mass of blood had grown under her body and her eyes were dead to the world. "Then again, she did kill his mutt of a godfather, so I guess they're even."

Albus lashed out. "_Sectumsempra!_" his wand was so quick that the Dark Lord barely had enough time to apparate out of the way. He reappeared only a few feet from the corpse of his servant, his long fingers sticky with his own blood as they grazed the long slash over his left eye. Had he not apparated when he did, chances were that his head would have been sliced in half.

His eyes narrowed. Dumbledore actually meant to kill him this time. "Is this the true nature of the Lord of the Light, Albus Dumbledore? And here I thought that you were too holier than thou to use the curses of us dark wizards. It makes me wonder why Severus taught it to you."

Albus's blue eyes brimmed with fury. "I never claimed to be a lord of light, Tom." He felt ill at the personal satisfaction that welled at the new scar on the resurrected Dark Lord. "And just because I never used theses spells on you didn't mean that I didn't know how to use them well. I understand now that there will never be any redemption for you."

Voldemort smirked. "Yes… this is what I have been waiting for. The duel between us shall be one for the legend –" he stopped suddenly. Both he and Albus froze as a strange sound echoed in what was the otherwise silent Atrium. It was rhythmic sound… it was a heartbeat. Voldemort spun around, his eyes wide as they stared at what was supposed to be a corpse. "No… that's not possible!"

Albus didn't dare hope, but he couldn't resist looking toward the body of the boy. Flesh that had been deathly pale had gained a healthy pigment and what should have been a dead body struggled to get into a sitting position. The Boy Who Lived, lived again. He couldn't stop the single tear that fell down his wizened cheek nor the urge to smirk at Voldemort's horrified expression. So he had been correct in assuming that his original plan could succeed._ Thank you, Lily. You and your son have brought us from the brink and given us hope again._

Harry Potter had been brought back from the brink of death and nothing could describe the feelings of Lord Voldemort as he watched the bane of existence stand up from his killing curse for the second time in a single lifetime. It was as if death itself avoided taking the boy. Everything Voldemort had ever worked for to achieve immortality had seemingly been accomplished by a normal boy who refused to die! Both master sorcerers watched on as Harry stood up, though with some difficulty, his hand grazing the open wound of his shirt. There, on his chest, was a lightning shaped scar that matched the one that rested on his forehead, a symbol that he had survived for a second time. Harry's eyes snapped open and Albus Dumbledore refused to allow a single tear fall at the bewildered look on the boy's face. The child didn't even know what he had done.

"How," he mumbled softly. "How am I still alive?"

Memories of Servants, Masters, and a Grail filled his head, filling it with images of heroes – heroes from both myth and stories – Counter Guardians and their inner workings – and even Magi who were comparable to Wizards. He knew none of these things and yet he knew _everything._ What was this mysterious energy flowing through him? He knew what it was. He supported both a magical core, and Magical Circuits that fueled, his mana – or prana –as others called it in his body. Could he even consider himself a human anymore? He had no acknowledgement of his own existence. What was he? Was he Servant – or Master? Could he still call himself Harry Potter? He remembered names – Archer – EMIYA – Shirou – HEROIC SPIRIT. Yet none of those could accurately name him because he didn't not understand what they truly meant to him. Images filtered through his head of many people he had loved – no still loved – even if he could not truly recall their names.

_Eternity is instantaneous, and an instant is eternal._

He had died. There was no denying that when the killing curse had hit him, he had ceased to exist in this world as Harry Potter. But he hadn't truly died. The shield that hid the entirety of his soul had been destroyed and memories of another life had been brought forward. The Heaven's Feel, whatever that truly was, was going to happen soon… why did it matter to him. Who was he? And where was he? He barely heard the enraged cry of the Dark Lord.

"POTTER!" The Dark Lord moved toward him at inhumane speeds with the sole intention of ripping his secrets right out his god forsaken mind. The scar was their connection together. As long as it still existed, Lord Voldemort would always have the upper hand. And yet, even as the boy refused to move, he found that he couldn't use the spell to possess him. Not that it would have mattered because Albus Dumbeldore had beat him to the punch.

"Waddiwasi." Albus muttered and the Dark Lord screamed in pain as something small and metallic ripped through his robes and body. Before Albus could make another move, the Dark Lord apparated and was gone from the Atrium.

Harry collapsed on his back. He really didn't understand what was happening and no one in their right could blame him for it. He closed his eyes for a single moment – or so he thought – and opened them again. There were numerous voices in the atrium and he could only stare at the blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore who loomed over him protectively.

"Are you alright, Harry?"

"I-I'm fine." Harry answered, allowing Dumbledore to help him from the ground. He wasn't so sure that his legs would work if how they were shaking was any indication. "Where's Voldemort – and why are there so many people here?" it was true. The atrium was filled with hundreds of ministry workers who had come when the alarm was sounded. The headmaster and his student watched as the Minister of Magic approached them nervously, his Auror Guard following close behind.

"He's back!" one of the guards shouted at the minster. "You-Know-Who is alive, Minister. I saw him with my own eyes – and LOOK! He left Bellatrix Lestrange over there!"

"I know! Bloody hell I saw him too!"

"He's back! Potter was telling the truth!"

"I was wondering when you were going to finally show yourself, Cornelius," Albus thundered across the atrium, silencing everyone with his voice alone." Harry ignored the applause that sounded when many wizards and house elves realized that he was leaning on the headmaster for support. "You will find that there are several apprehended Death Eaters awaiting Ministry custody and are awaiting Madame Bone's decision on what is to be done with them. The Auror Guard I trust should be able to handle them?"

Fudge sputtered. "Dumbledore! You – cannot just – the audacity!"

Amelia Bones nodded in agreement. "It is a simple enough task. You heard him, men! Get off your lazy arses have those Death Eaters in their cells _yesterday_ for interrogation." Her eyes turned distasteful when they landed on the corpse of Bellatrix Lestrange. "I'll have the Unspeakables round up her body for experimentation and analysis. I take it that that was your handiwork, Albus?"

Albus's eyes grew cold. "No, unfortunately I did not. Because of the inaction of others – myself included –Harry has lost more than his innocence tonight. Luckily, that was the handiwork of Lord Voldemort." It didn't matter that Harry hadn't killed anyone. It was the fact that he was almost forced to that sent the originally kind headmaster into such rage. "I imagine that you will want to question him about the events tonight?"

"If that would be possible, yes." Amelia nodded in agreement. Her eyes however, told a different story that had Harry sighing in relief. "However, I believe the boy had dealt with more than any child has a right to. I leave any questioning to you, Dumbeldore."

"A-Amelia!" Fudge cried out in outrage. "The knowledge the boy has on the Dark Lord could be instrumental to defeating him. I order him to be questioned –"

"I dare reckon that after tonight you will need to search for another occupation," Albus interrupted coldly. "Harry is under my guidance and he will be returning to school. Your chance to prevent Lord Voldemort's rise has already passed and I doubt you will be in office much longer. But before the Public decides what to do with you, I will tell you what you **will** do. You **will** give the order to remove Delores Umbridge from **my** school." He commanded with all the authority he could muster. Seeing him now reminded Amelia why the public wanted him as minister to begin with. "You **will** give the order for your Aurors to stop harassing my Care of Magical Creatures teacher so that he may work efficiently. You will receive a half hour explanation from **me** after the boy is sent back. If you believe that you need more information, Amelia is more than able to contact me once I return to the school."

Albus ignored the sputtering of the minster to turn to Harry who looked paler by the minute. He placed a sock in the boys hand, ignoring the weak snicker that escaped the boy's lip. It was nice to know that Harry remembered that particular conversation. "Take this Portkey and return to the school. I dare say your friends will be more than happy to see you. " when Harry looked ready to protest, he offered him a kindly smile. "Do not worry for me. I will talk to you soon and deal with this mess here. After today, I believe that you need to know everything."

Harry had no time to question just what everything was before he felt the familiar sensation of a hook being jerked at his navel. In a single moment, Dumbledore and everything else in the Ministry disappeared from his vision with a single POP.

X

Harry landed on his back in the headmaster's office. He groaned softly as he managed to pull himself back up, using the headmaster's desk as leverage. He let his green, sad, eyes wander the room, marveling how everything seemed to have been repaired since his previous visit which involved the headmaster and his phoenix escaping from Ministry officials. There was no sign that there had been a small duel in the admittedly large room and no sign that the flames of phoenix ever existed in here. He paid no mind to the silver instrument that littered the massive desk, nor to the crooning of the majestic bird, Fawkes, that stood nearby, watching him with a curious eye.

_Being a hero means you can't save everyone._

He clenched his fists so tightly so the point that they bled. It was his fault that Sirius had passed on from this world, forever away from him. He had been an idiot for falling for Voldemort's trick, and he had been moronic enough to not remember that Voldemort could mess with his head due to the connection they shared because of his scar. If he hadn't tried to be a hero… but that was impossible. He had made a promise. He had promised he would be a hero!

"Argh!" he cried at the head splitting headache that affected him again. What was happening to him? Why – why did he see all of those things? But the images would not stop. Sirius falling through the veil, those empty eyes smiling at him. He hunched over and cried as the image was replaced with something that literally sent his mind aflame.

Fire.

A never ending flame that expanded an unknown length. It surrounded him and seemed to swallow him whole. He had been only a child then. The flames were terrible. They killed everyone. His parents, his parents that he could not remember were swallowed whole by the flames. People he might have known were incinerated by its evil. Children he must have played with had their lives extinguished in a single instant. He couldn't do anything because the fires had claimed him too. He could feel it burning through his jeans and skin. He was just a small boy, but the fire wanted to eat him too. He couldn't save anyone. He was useless. He couldn't fight it. Even if he tried he would die regardless. Everyone would die, and despite the contrary, it was his fault.

"_Harry!"_

But then he came and saved him, or saved what was left. The man loved him as his own, but he couldn't fix the damage that was permanently burned within him. They had suffered because he didn't have the strength to protect them. A great fire had swallowed them all and there was only one survivor. And that survivor's name was Shirou – Harry – EMIYA –

"Harry!" the boy who lived blink as he found himself being shaken roughly. The fire had disappeared and the screams had been silenced. He was in the headmaster's office… like he had never left in the first place. He blinked when he found himself on the floor, covered in layers of sweat. The Headmaster's blue eyes gazed at him with endless worry. "My boy, are you alright?"

Harry shuddered. "I-I'm fine." But he wasn't. He couldn't stop shaking, he couldn't move the images away, the endless flame. He lightly shoved Dumbledore away from him, struggling to stand even as he held onto the desk with a vice grip. Dumbledore did not stop him. Instead, he moved toward the phoenix who was looking rather younger than what Harry remembered and stroked its feathers before nodding. Fawkes let out a soft song and Harry found that his shivering stopped immediately afterwards. He swallowed. "Thank you…"

"It is the least I could do," Dumbledore said, as he moved away from the bird before opting to sit in his chair behind his desk, his blue eyes having none of the twinkle they usually sported. Harry couldn't meet his eyes. All he could see was the flame and his godfather's corpse. "You've suffered a traumatic night, Harry, and I'm sorry. I failed you as your headmaster. But you will be pleased to know that none of your friends suffered permanent damage from your assault against the Death Eaters tonight."

Harry didn't respond, staring at him with despondent eyes and Dumbledore sighed. "Despite what you might think, Harry, I know exactly what you are feeling right now and I am so, so very sorry."

"You have no understanding of what I am feeling!" Harry snarled, surprising himself. The headmaster had the audacity to claim that he understood Harry. No one understood him! No one could possibly understand the hell he went through!

Memories of Sirius at Christmas came to mind and it only served to fuel his anger and release bitter tears down his cheeks as he stared at the headmaster with angry eyes. There was so much that he had wanted to do with Kiritsugu –Sirius, he corrected himself. He had wanted him to be there when he had children. He wanted him to be there when Voldemort's reign was finally ended. He wanted him to be there when he broke down and had no one else to turn to.

"Do not be ashamed of your pain, Harry." Dumbledore said softly. "The fact that you can feel such pain means that you are truly human and not the monster Voldemort wants you to be."

"I'd rather be a monster!"

"No you would not! Harry, suffering still proves that there is good in you! This is the pain that means that you will always be a good man –"

"THEN I DON'T WANT TO BE HUMAN!" All the silvery items on the desk of the headmaster suddenly exploded, shattering into a thousand pieces each. Harry grabbed the nearest object before throwing it a the wall in a fit of rage. The images came to mind again. His adopted father closing his eyes –no that was Shirou's father! "I DON'T CARE IF I DIE ANYMORE! I'VE DIED THREE TIMES ALREADY SO WHY CAN'T I DO IT AGAIN! I'M DONE! I DON'T CARE ANYMORE!"

"You will always care, Harry. Dumbledore persisted and didn't seem all that shaken when all his voice did was make the young wizard angrier. "You will always care! You've lost your mother, your father, and now your godfather. Of course you care. You always will. That pain will always exist and it will never fade no matter what others say."

"Don't act like you understand!" Harry bellowed, his magic cracking Dumbledore's desk with the sheer force of it. "You weren't there! You didn't see him fall into the veil! You didn't see the fire that surrounded me! You didn't see everyone dying. You weren't there."

Dumbledore nodded. "You're right. I was not there and that is why I cannot emphasize with you. Had I arrived moments earlier than perhaps Sirius would not have died. But do not allow that to push hatred toward yourself, Harry. Hate me if you must. Allow me to shoulder the burden of your hate. I do not know of this fire that you speak of, but let me shoulder it as well. I will bear all that pain for you. Don't allow it to kill the being that is Harry Potter and turn him into something worse than Voldemort."

Harry froze before stumbling backwards, falling on a chair Dumbledore had conjured when he wasn't looking. He tried to do as the old man had said. He tried to hate him, but he couldn't. It was not Dumbledore's fault. If was his own. When everyone needed a hero, they looked to Harry, and he had failed them. "I-I can't even call myself Harry anymore."

"I do not understand that, Harry." Dumbledore said clearly. His eyes looked deeply troubled at Harry's words. "It seems that we have been keeping more secrets from each other than I had originally thought. Please, tell me what you meant so I can understand."

Harry bit his lip. "I-I can't explain it."

"Please try."

"W-when I fought Bellatrix, something had happened." Harry admitted. "She was going to kill me. I knew she was, and I wasn't scared. I wasn't scared because it was going to be me and no one else. But something happened. The sword – the sword of Gryffindor, it came to me and I cut off her arm because I didn't know what else to do."

He might have well slapped the old man in the face with that information. "Harry, that shouldn't be possible. What you are telling is an impossibility."

"Why!" Harry demanded. He wasn't going to be called a liar again, especially not from someone he had admired like Dumbledore. He already bore the scars to prove that he must not tell lies. "I'm not LYING!"

Dumbledore stared at the sword of Gryffindor sitting proudly on the wall. "I said it is not possible for you to have summoned the Sword of Gryffindor because it had never left this room tonight. I have charms that would have alerted me if someone had so much as touched the sword." Dumbledore stood up suddenly, pacing about with a grave expression on his face. "I am correct. The sword never left this room, but if what you say is true and I believe to be, then that means that … created a copy."

"What are you talking about? How can I copy something? It felt exactly like the sword did." Harry exclaimed, standing up from his seat with new energy. "How is this any different than the hat during the Chamber of Secrets? Couldn't the sword have simply answered my call like before?"

Dumbledore frowned. "If that was the case, my boy, I would have been alerted of it as soon as possible. No, I believe you copied the blade with an ability not known to wizard kind and instead used more commonly by our Magi cousins. Have you heard of them… Harry!"

Harry grabbed his throbbing head. "I-I'm fine! I know what they are! The ability is Structure Analysis and Tracing." he revealed. "When Voldemort killed me, I saw visions – no, memories – I know what all those things are. Professor – please tell me what the Holy Grail is!"

Dumbledore paled several shades and slumped into his seat, looking far more tired than Harry had ever seen him. "Harry… things are worse than I had feared. I need you to tell me everything that had happened during your brief moment in death." At Harry's look, he continued. "I give you my word Harry that I will tell you everything from now on if you tell me what you saw. I will tell you why I left you with the Dursley's, why Lord Voldemort seeks to kill you, everything.

Harry shivered. "Everything?"

"I promise."

And so Harry told him _everything _ that he could understand.

**And thus the first chapter has come to a close. Thank you all for reading and please take your time to tell me how I did and any suggestions you would like to offer. This chapter has not been beta'd unfortunately so if anyone is willing, send me a PM.**


	2. Magic and The Throne

**Disclaimer:** I have no claim of ownership over Fate/stay night, and Harry Potter. They belong to their respective owners.

**Author's Note:** Due to a malfunction in which gods no longer existed in the nasuverse, what was once a Percy Jackson fanfic has now moved to Harry Potter where origins are more malleable.** Not beta'd. Waiting for my beta to contact me. Slow start - More of a prologue really.**

**Quote:** "Saving someone means not saving someone else" – Emiya Kiritsugu

**An Ideal of Blades: Reality Marble**

**Magic and the Throne**

Frustration.

It was an emotion Harry was becoming increasingly familiar with and he held back every strong urge – partly from Voldemort's left over residue – and partly himself – to snap a curse at the wizened old man in front of him and be done with it. After returning from the Department of Ministries, Harry had done as the old man had asked of him and explained everything he had saw from the strange visions and voices that filled his head to the summoning of the sword that removed Bellatrix's arm from her body. The old man had promised to explain everything and yet he still hesitated. Instead, they returned to Harry's feelings on Sirius's death and had done well until Dumbledore had made what seemed to be a rather rude and unsavory comment.

"So Sirius got what he deserved, is that right?" Harry asked darkly.

"You know just as well as I that that was not what I meant in the slightest." Dumbledore retorted calmly with that aura of indifference that had the young man's blood boiling. "I believed in Sirius Black. He was one of the best the Order had, right along there with you father before his passing. He was a gentle and fun loving man to his friends, Harry. But he showed none of that love to his house elf. You have seen this. You cannot deny that Sirius treated Kreacher as nothing more than garbage, a hurtful memory of the past that he had thought he left behind."

Harry smiled grimly. "Of course he hated the elf." There was no doubt in his mind that when it came to the last scion of the Black family and the Black house elf, only hatred and evil existed. But just because he could acknowledge that didn't mean that he acknowledged that his godfather deserved this treatment from this man, especially just after his death. "Sirius hated that house. He hated that place you use as headquarters and you quartered him there like a prisoner. I guess the fault lies between Kreacher and I. If Kreacher had told me the truth, I would have never gone. But if I had been smarter, maybe I would have realized that it was a trap before I got there."

"I tried to keep him safe, Harry." Dumbledore said softly. "And do not blame yourself for your godfather' death. We have already agreed that the fault mainly lies with me. You have already pointed out that it was my decision to keep him in Headquarters that ultimately led to his death. Had I not been so concerned with his safety and that of the Order, he may very well have survived."

"I guess you learned the hard way that people don't like choices being made for them. They don't like to be imprisoned." Harry sneered. "Just like you did with me when it came to the Dursley's. You knew how much I hated that house and yet you sent me back there when I could have been living at headquarters with Sirius. I bet you're even going to send me back there after the school year ends, aren't you? Let's have another Sirius on our hands, right?"

He didn't know exactly how he heard it, but the faint, almost imperceptible sound of liquid landing on hardwood reached his ears and the strong, calm image he had of Dumbledore had been shattered in a single instant. The man had never shown weakness in Harry's presence before, so to find a strong man like him ready to weep was something that stunned Harry into silence.

Dumbledore removed his glasses and wiped his eyes. "I promised that I would explain everything to you in exchange for your information about what had occurred in the Department of Ministries." He gestured for Harry to sit and the boy did so without a word. "I will tell you everything that I should have told you the minute you stepped into the Great Hall the night of your sorting. All I ask in return is for you to quell your rage until I explain my reasoning. After that, you may do as you wish – even leave Hogwarts if you feel that is the best choice. I have no control over your life."

Harry said nothing in response. Only the light buzzing in the back of his head told him that now wasn't the time for his theatrics. He couldn't allow his pride to make him hot headed because only _fools had pride_. He groaned softly, rubbing his forehead in pain. Dumbledore flashed him a concerned look but Harry waved him away with a scowl.

"Fifteen years ago – on the night of Halloween, I left you on the doorstep of your relatives with the single hope that you would have a loving family to replace the one you lost." Dumbledore began, ignoring Harry' incredulous look with the patience of a saint. "However, I knew better and had there been another option, I would have gladly taken it. I knew that I was condemning you to eleven years of hell in exchange for your victory three years from now."

Harry frowned. "What victory?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "You shall learn soon enough. If you are to understand why your life is the way it is, then I must go from the very beginning of your journey." He swirled his wand and the room, already dark in lighting, dimmed further. "I know that you questioned my decision on allowing you to stay with your relatives instead of letting the Weasley's or another wizarding family take you in. My reasons were simple enough. I wanted you to stay alive. Your continued existence in this world was my sole priority."

"How is forcing me to live with my abusive relatives keeping me safe?" Harry demanded furiously. He almost stood up from his chair in rage. "How was allowing a family that barred my windows keep me safe from the bad guys? I would have been safer in our world!"

"Voldemort may have been temporarily defeated that night, Harry. But his followers had not. Those that you have met in the past were still heavily at large back then on that terrible night and had I left you in the care of wizards, it would not have been long before they attempted to use a legal loophole to ensnare you to either groom you as the next servant to the Dark Lord, or worse, kill you in vengeance for what you had accomplished as a one year old child." Dumbledore took a deep breath to steady his breathing. "Voldemort's extensive knowledge of the dark arts made him – no, it still does make him – a formidable enemy even in the boundaries of life and death. Any charm or spell I could have used to protect you would have been destroyed easily the moment he came back from the dead." Harry's eyes went wide at the thought and Dumbledore chuckled. "I may appear strong, Harry, but I am far past my prime. You may wonder why I myself hadn't destroyed Tom. It is quite simple. It is not that I do not want to, it is because I physically _cannot_ anymore. Perhaps had I been in my prime, Lord Voldemort would have never come to power, but as I am now, I can only hope to force him into a stalemate."

"Sir," Harry breathed.

"No, my strength alone would have not been enough to keep you safe. But I found my reprieve in a parting gift that your mother had developed only moments before she died to save you from death that terrible Halloween." Dumbledore chuckled. "Your mother was an exceptional woman, Harry. She was an astounding witch, and perhaps one of my greatest pupils. She left upon you a protection based off blood. It was because of this that I sent you to your aunt. She was the only blood relative that you had left and therefore the only one the protections would work with."

Harry glared softly. "How were these protections supposed to protect me when Voldemort used my blood to make himself a new body?"

The sun had begun to rise and his silver beard shined brightly as his blue eyes crunched up in a rare moment of frustration. "The blood protections until the end of last year served their goal efficiently. I had known that after this year, they would be useless. The wards would not protect you from Voldemort anymore, you are indeed correct. But they would protect you from his followers and alert me of anything related to the Dark Lord. Tell me, are you aware of what Voldemort is now that he created a new mortal shell for his soul?"

Harry grunted as a cold feeling encompassed his back. The image of a silvery white haired girl with red eyes protected by a giant monster filled his vision for several seconds. It receded almost instantly but the effects had already been completed. "He created a homunculus, didn't he? Like the Einzbern Family? That's their specialty. They helped him." Even mentioning that name sent both warm feelings his stomach and shivers down his spine. The little girl he had seen made his warm inside, but the name she was associated with had a terrible story.

"It is strange that I find your knowledge of that particular family unsurprising," Dumbledore mused thoughtfully. "Perhaps it is a connection to your strange visions and the power you accessed in your battle with Tom?" The old man shook his head. "I find that it does not matter at this moment, but you are indeed correct for the most part. Voldemort's new body is indeed a make of the Einzbern Family, however, considering their deep distaste for wizards in general, it is highly unlikely for the Einzbern to have willingly created a body for him. No I believe that Tom had the design for an older prototype stolen from an insider within the family. Magus are a particularly aggressive lot and it would not surprise me if the Association was connected with what had occurred tonight."

Harry frowned. "Magus, sir?"

The name struck a chord in his soul and a strange feeling encompassed his body, mainly his nerves. He knew that name – what it represented – but the visions were still foggy and the pain that came with his headaches increased exponentially.

"Ah, so these new memories of yours have not fully assimilated with your mind." Dumbledore said softly. "Then I shall gladly explain it to you, my boy. Magus are a subject generally avoided in wizarding culture, but considering your connection with them, I see no reason to withhold this knowledge from you. It is better for you to know now rather than later."

"Connection?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Allow me to explain. I am aware that you have not been taught what Magic truly is. It is a subject taught in your seventh year but I cannot afford to wait till then. Magic is essentially the impossible as Muggles have so accurately described it. The consequences of magic are ostensibly impossible and miraculous. Concepts like time manipulation, teleportation, spatial warping and quarantine, and the resurrection of the dead are miracles thought to be possible only through the application of Magic. Tom has already shown you this once before."

Harry nodded gravely.

"It is said that magic came from the Root and is the province of gods, Harry. The magic that you and I do can hardly be described that way but Magus such as the Einzbern may think differently. In fact, there are six types of magic in this world. The First magic is lost to mankind and it may never be discovered. The Second is referred to as the Kaleidoscope and a subject I'd prefer you'd avoid. It is access to other dimensions but currently only a single man has accessed it. The third is the Cup of Heaven or the – "

" – Heaven's Feel." Harry finished blankly. His eyes had dulled as if he had fallen into a trance by Dumbledore's words.

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed. The Fourth Magic is unknown just like the first but most can agree that it does exist. The Fifth Magic is something you are heavily familiar with. It's exact abilities are unknown but it is heavily connected to time travel and the few wizards who have access to it are long gone, leaving notes that created the time turners for the Department of Mysteries. Magic is essentially everything and anything. There are no specific laws that can be easily understood. Not even I truly understand magic, but what I do understand is that it is a part of us."

"Sir, with all due respect," Harry began. "How does me knowing all this relate to what the bloody hell happened to me at the ministry and the Einzbern family?"

Dumbledore smiled. "It relates because it allows me to give you a clear distinction of what is magic and what is not. Wizards have access to some of the magic and the sixth magic which allows what we do through magic legal in the eyes of Gaia. What you did at the Ministry was not magic, but rather a power only available to Magus. Thaumaturgy or otherwise known as Magecraft."

Harry frowned at the prospect and seemingly glared at his hands in confusion. "Thaumaturgy…?" he mumbled softly. His relatively large hands clenched, digging his nails straight into his palm without remorse or restraint. "Professor, if Thaumaturgy is magic, then why is it so strange that I did it at the Department of Ministries? If its magic, it shouldn't be so strange for me to use it. I think the only really strange thing was the visions I received when I did use it."

Even as the two conversed, memories and strange images filtered through Harry's mind and vision. The occasional unbearable headache was a consequence because of it. The young man found it hard not to scream in agony and when he avoided it, he pretended not to notice the knowing look of concern in the old man's eyes. There weren't many things you could hide from the strongest sorcerer in the past three hundred and so years.

"If only things were that simple, my boy." Dumbledore shook his head in disagreement. "There is a reason that Magus and Wizard kind do not interact and that is because our magic is inheritably different to each other's, making it impossible for one to use the other. We are biologically different and like two species of animals, are different than the other. To access Magecraft, one needs to have the magical circuits of a Magus. What you displayed in your duel against Lord Voldemort and Miss Lestrange was a Magus skill, something that should be impossible."

Harry growled. "So I can use both? What am I, special? It was probably a fluke, Professor. I probably did some accidental magic that looked like a Magus skill. I am a wizard." The possibility of him being different then everyone else made his stomach sick. He was already treated differently for being the Boy Who Lived.

Dumbledore looked down his glasses. "Harry, you told me earlier than an incantation you didn't understand left your lips when you took the arm of Bellatrix Lestrange. Do you still remember the incantation?"

Harry nodded hesitantly.

"If what had occurred earlier truly is nothing more than a bout of accidental magic, then the circuits that shouldn't exist will not activate in response." Dumbledore claimed. He clasped his hands together. "Close your eyes, Harry, and concentrate on that feeling you had during that exact moment. Think about the Sword of Gryffindor and everything it entails. When you are ready, say the incantation."

The brunette closed his eyes. The words left his lips even before they reached his brain. "Trace, On!" the result was almost instantaneous. He could see it in his mind – the Sword of Gryffindor. Every detail, every bit of composition, and even its very history was available to him. It was almost as if his instincts were trying to perfect it to its greatest potential. He grunted in pain as a strange warmth encompassed his body. It felt odd, like a metal rod was being pushed into his spine. He could see gold things that resembled veins, sparking in response to his will and he could barely stop his horror at the feeling of a familiar weight in his hands.

"It seems that Ollivander was correct in assuming that you would do great things in the future, Harry." The voice of the headmaster snapped him out of his concentrated state and he stared at the replica of the Sword of Gryffindor with something akin to horror and fascination. Dumbledore brushed the bridge of his nose with weariness. "So you are indeed a Magus as well as a wizard. You are an anomaly amongst your kind and theirs."

Harry clenched his eyes shut. "I-I didn't want this…" he felt terrible. He had never asked to be the Boy Who Lived. He had never asked for stupid powers. He just wanted to be Harry and only Harry. And now, for another reason he couldn't control, he was different than everyone else, even Dumbledore. "I-I guess the Dursley's were right. I really am a freak."

Dumbledore slammed his hand against his desk. "Never think that way, Harry!" he roared in outrage, startling the young lad out of his stupor. "You do not understand just how special you are. Whenever others run from danger, you run straight to it with the hope that someone will benefit from your sacrifice. A freak would have never survived against Lord Voldemort at age twelve. A freak would have never fought a basilisk for the sake of saving a young girl. A freak would have never voluntarily went back in time to save his godfather! A freak would never have fought Lord Voldemort knowing full that death was most likely the only outcome from their meeting!

My boy, you are someone like no other I have ever met. You willingly walked toward death without fear or hesitation to protect your love ones. Just because you have both magical circuits and a magical core does not make you a freak. It makes you formidable, better prepared for what is to come. It makes you better prepared to defend yourself. Cherish your gifts, Harry. Never be ashamed of them."

Harry stared wide eyed.

"I should have recognized the signs earlier, Harry. I should have told myself that it was time for you to learn of your _Fate_, to learn what awaited you at the end. I should have recognized the possibility that you could handle the responsibility. I should have not waited till now where you have become something Magus and Wizards dreamed of. So many times have you asked me about that scar and all I have done is let you fester in your own self-hatred. I was afraid of what you would do, of what you would become. But in my failures, I allowed you to degrade to the point where you cannot even recognize your greatness and strength. Do you see what you have done to me, Harry?"

"I don't understand."

"You wormed your way into my old heart." Dumbledore snapped. "I left myself to my delusions with hopes that you would have a great childhood. I acted like Voldemort would have suspected a fool who loves to act. My boy, I shall reveal the truth to you. Voldemort tried to kill you when you were just a small baby because of a prophecy made shortly before the time of your birth. Voldemort discovered its existence and created a plot to kill you that backfired with his original body being destroyed and him left a shadow of his former self. This prophecy haunted him and only him. So he set up a plan to discover its contents tonight with the hopes of finding the secret to your destruction."

The blade of Godric Gryffindor disappeared from Harry's hands. The boy could only watch as what was once a calm wizard let himself go into a rant of self-hatred and disgust. "The prophecy that you took from the Department of Ministries –"

" –It's destroyed." Harry choked.

"In an admiral effort." Dumbledore agreed. "But the contents were already learned by several people, myself included. On a cold night, two years before the day of your birth, in a room at Hog's Head Inn, I discovered the existence of a Seer and I thought it important to see her. I was rewarded greatly for my belief in a Seer." Dumbledore stood up suddenly and moved quickly past Harry without looking at him, leaving the stunned boy shaking in his seat. With the sudden influx of memories and the boy's fear of what Dumbledore was turning into, it wasn't hard to imagine that he was suffering what could easily be called a nervous breakdown. Dumbledore raised his wand to his temple and withdrew a silvery, gossamer-fine strand of thought clinging to his wand and deposited it into the Pensieve he kept stored in his office. A figure rose from it, a figure Harry incredulously recognized as the Divination Teacher that really shouldn't be teaching at a school. Her voice was not her own and her words sent shivers comparable to death down his spine.

"_**The one with the Power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"**_

The eerie vision of Professor Trelawney disappeared and the room was left silent. The Headmaster simply watched the Pensieve, waiting for the boy to speak.

"Professor." Harry's tone held no fear but no emotion either. It was a voice not his own and yet a voice that could be called _his_. "That… that prophecy was talking about me, wasn't it? The one born when the seventh month dies… was me?"

"Yes," Dumbledore croaked softy and Harry was surprised to find tears of remorse and guilt. " Your parents had defied him _three_ times during the war and he marked you as his equal with the scar on your forehead. You may not understand, but he did indeed choose you. He chose you instead of a pure blood child. He chose you to bear his mark, to become his greatest enemy. You were – and still are – everything he fears, Harry. He chose a half-blood, like himself. He saw himself within you before you had ever appeared before his eyes and he gave you powers, a future which granted you the ability to escape his wrath four times, once more than your parents and two more than Sirius."

Harry closed his eyes. The mere mention of his godfather brought memories of flames and death. Sirius Black had died because of him and Voldemort's followers. And his debts had to be repaid. Harry found himself voicing a question without truly caring for an answer. "That last line… neither can live while the other survives… one of us has to kill the other, don't we?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore and his bearing changed from a mournful one to one of great relief, surprising the boy. It was as if something had occurred to the man. Blue eyes twinkled as realization dawned in the boy's eyes.

Harry blinked. "But I died…" he could recall it easily enough. He had died upon a hill of swords and – wait… he grasped his head in pain before the true memory surfaced. The killing curse had hit him again tonight. He had died. "He killed me…"

"Oh, yes." Dumbledore agreed rather cheerfully.

"But doesn't that mean that he's won?"

"Au contraire," said Dumbledore, a broad smile peeking out from his beard. "That would be the question Tom is thinking about now. But truthfully my boy, I believe that it is quite the opposite. Have you ever truly wondered how you gained the ability to speak with serpents and look into his mind as you have done this year? On the night he marked you, he had left a piece of himself within you, a piece that he destroyed tonight."

Harry stared. "There was a piece of him inside me…?"

"A piece that no longer exists. The connection that bound you two together to a prophecy has been severed and your role as the Boy Who Lived has been completed." Dumbledore revealed. He swished his wand, allowing the room to brighten. "In order for Voldemort to be defeated, one of you had to die because no one could kill the other but you two. When Voldemort killed you tonight, he severed the only thing that prevented me from bringing him to justice for his crimes. As of today, I can erase his plans and finally deal with him as I should have done all those years ago. You have won today, Harry."

"I-I've won?" Harry questioned quietly. Suddenly, several tools within the room exploded. "I HAVEN'T WON ANYTHING! SIRIUS IS DEAD! I'M NOT A NORMAL WIZARD AND I DIED! THEN I FIND OUT THAT VOLDEMORT AND I WERE DESTINED TO KILL ONE ANOTHER? HOW IS THAT A VICTORY?" His emotions were on a new high and he found it incredibly difficult to breathe. His chest hurt and it felt like his body was being stabbed from the inside. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't comprehend. It was as if his mind suddenly exploded as images brought forth from his emotions swelled over him like a tidal wave. Darkness encroached his vision and he reached out to steady himself only to find the world turning on its side as he collapsed.

"HARRY!"

†

Fire.

The blaze swallowed everything in its path. Fire was everywhere, so hot and bright that he felt his skin melting off his arms from the sheer amount of flames rising over him and swallowing everyone around him whole. Was this hell? It certainly seemed that way. All around him, people were dying. Some ran away only to be swallowed by the flames and others stayed behind to save their family members only to meet the same fate. He couldn't save them and he did the only thing a child his age could do. He ran. He ran as far as he could with the singular hope to LIVE.

But the smoke he inhaled had done incredible damage to his lungs and he found it difficult to breathe. Harsh screams echoed in his ears and he stopped mid run, his bright amber eyes focused on the burning form of a woman and her child. Both screamed and convulsed and he could do was watch hopelessly as they died a death worthy of any demon. His lungs failed him and his back hit the hard concrete, the flames circling him like a specter of death. Surely this was his punishment for being a senseless coward. All of those people had died trying to do something and he ran. He ran and he lived while they didn't. There was no fairness in it, no love. But this was what he deserved. He was a failure, nothing more than a child to stupid not to try. He closed his eyes.

_I remember that face._

Fire enveloped everything and even as a child, he knew that his end was near. And yet, he could not withhold his own shock at the feeling of a rough hand encompassing his own with the tenderness of someone who had found something they had lost. Dull eyes opened and widened. There was a man who crouched before him dressed in an all-black attire. His pale was streaked with tears and his brilliant coal black eyes displayed many emotions.

_He had tears in his eyes from finding someone alive. A man who was happy from the bottom of his broken heart. It was strange… he looked so happy that it seemed like it had been him that had been saved and not I who had endured the flames._

"You're alive!" the man cried, his form shaking with deep sobs. He watched as the man pressed his small hand against his face almost lovingly, holding it like a lifeline. The boy's dull eyes regained a small spark of life as they widened.

_And then… even though I was on the brink of death, the man was grateful. It made me jealous. Thank you, he says over and over again. He said that he was glad to have saved someone, and that by saving one person, he had saved himself._

†

When Harry awoke, it was to the blue gaze of the headmaster staring at him from one of the chairs stationed next to the bed he commonly held in the Hospital Wing. The green eyed boy removed his gaze from the silent headmaster and stared through the window that revealed the outside world. The sun was shining in a blue sky filled with white clouds. It was a far cry of the red sky filled with black smog that filled his dreams. That feeling of helplessness – of death – was something that would remain with him forever. He tried to move, but his head raged in protest and he couldn't stop the small groan of pain that left his lips. He almost jumped at the feeling of cold glass pressed against his free hand and he stared wide eyed at the headmaster who held out a clear glass of clear liquid.

"For your headaches, Harry." Dumbledore said softly.

Harry downed it without a word. The potion was disgusting, reminding him of a vomit flavored jelly bean, but years of drinking potions such as this one had waned his urge to hurl. He returned the empty glass and laid his head down, eyes closed in thought.

He craned his neck to the side. "What is the Heaven's Feel, Professor?" he asked piercingly. The words were soft, but they did nothing to hide the tiredness he felt. He wanted to scream, to be angry with the mournful old man in front of him. And yet, he could find no reason to justify it. If his death was the cost to save many, what reason did he have to say no?

Dumbledore made to answer his question, but then stopped. He had been expecting more screams, a stray spell, demands, anything of that nature. He certainly deserved anything Harry threw his way. But when he looked into those eyes, he only found the strange acceptance that his death was necessary. It made the old man sick inside. Was it the strange memories Harry received that caused this small change in the boy – or was that reckless, needless, acceptance to die in the place of others always been there? To his horror, he truly didn't have an answer.

Dumbledore smiled grimly. "The Heaven's Feel is a ritual that has been ongoing for two hundred years, Harry. It is a tournament established by three of some of the greatest Magus families, Einzbern as you know, Makiri, and the Tohsaka. Seven magi are chosen by the Grail as Masters and, with support from the Grail, allowed to summon seven Servants to do battle. The winning pair is supposed to be able to claim the Holy Grail and utilize it to grant a wish for each of them."

"A wish?" Harry mused. It was a strange thought. Harry almost believed that he had a wish he wanted to be granted. He could have his parents back and Sirius. He could probably wish for the end of the war… but things like that didn't appeal to him. "It is like the Mirror of Erised, isn't it?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed. I am glad that you recognized the danger of such an object. I highly believe that the Grail has the capability to bring back the dead. But I am – and so are you – wise enough to realize that such a wish cannot be granted without a heavy cost. It is the greatest monkey's paw and not many recognize the truth. It seems that your memories are connected to the Holy Grail Wars so I find it fitting that you have all the knowledge you can to figure it out.

A Master is a designation given to an individual, usually a magus, who has become one of the formal participants of the Holy Grail War by obtaining Command Spells and forming a contract with a Servant. It is possible for wizards and mundane to be one as well but it is highly unlikely. In order become a Master, a person must successfully summon a Servant through use of a specific Formal Craft ritual. Upon completion, the Master must formalize a contract with the Summoned Servant by acknowledging their respective roles. The process creates a link between the two, allowing the Master to support the Servant with their Prana or an external source."

Harry sat upward, relieved of a small amount of pain. "So Servants are like familiars or pets?" it was a strange concept. When he thought of the word servant, usually Dobby or Hedwig were the image presented to him. However, recently those images have changed into something else.

"No," Dumbledore shook his head. "I believe it would be safer to categorize these Servants as wraiths or spirits created from the ideals of men rather than the dead. Yes, it would be safer to categorize them as HEROIC SPIRITS, spirits that come from the legends of men and heroes long forgotten." He smiled at the boy's strange expression. "The world of magic is a curious thing, Harry. It is possible for the dead to return for a limited time, especially in the case of heroes. Heroic Spirits are made up of those who truly existed, those only from legends, and those who were never observed at all. Those who existed had belief of their deeds gathered upon their deaths and were sublimated into beings of higher rank, while those who only existed in myths and legends were born from the gathering of those beliefs even though they didn't exist."

Harry winced in pain. "So a spirit like Sir Nick. Could he be considered a HEROIC –"

"No," Dumbledore concluded. "There are a difference between ghosts and HEROIC SPIRITS but we do not have the time to get into the specifics of it. I suspected that you would ask me about the Heaven's Feel if you had some knowledge of the Grail. I take it your questions came from your strange visions?"

Harry nodded. "I had a dream… a dream about fire." He admitted softly. His eyes were darkened. "It was terrible. It was like I was in hell. I thought I was going to die. But then a man came and saved me… no, he saved Shirou…"

"Shirou?"

Harry ignored him. "And Shirou depended on that man and he swore to become a hero of justice. That fire – that fire was created by the Holy Grail – the Heaven's Feel. Sir, I don't understand what's going on but the images won't stop." Harry only just noticed the amount of sweat dripping down his face and his clammy hands. "I-I can't stay here. I need to know what's going on. I won't be able to focus on Voldemort if I'm distracted like this."

"Your war with Voldemort has come to an end." Dumbledore intervened quietly. He snapped his fingers and to Harry's surprise, a house elf appeared in a deep bow with what looked like Harry's luggage. "When I saw you screaming in your sleep –" he ignored Harry's gasp of surprise. " – screaming the name _Emiya_, I knew that you couldn't stay here. Harry, this house elf will take your things while I have an Order Member escort you to the airport in London."

"Y-you mean…?"

"Yes, you must leave and find out the truth about your visions." Dumbledore answered. The old man looked more tired than Harry had ever seen him. "The Heaven's Feel is not set to begin for another forty years at best and as always its setting will take place in Fuyuki City. There should be no danger for you to move about there as long as you avoid the master of the land. I will have enrolled you into a muggle school there. Use your time wisely, Harry. I do not know how much time you'll have to investigate, but I give you a year if you're lucky. I have left you numerous books and accounts to help you better understand the new world you are a part of. Your medical information – now updated extensively – is with your luggage. It will tell you everything you need to know about your body and how an enigma like you exists."

Harry protested vehemently. "But I just can't leave! What about Ron and Hermione? I still need to be here to fight Voldemort –"

"Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger are needed here, Harry." Dumbledore disagreed with finality. "and your war with Voldemort is over. You would be a liability as you are now. Allow me to handle Tom while you figure out why these visions are coming to you, why you are just as much a Magus as you are a Wizard. You will regret if you don't."

Seeing that look of finality in the old man's eyes, Harry realized that he had to go or the man would do everything in his power to keep him out of the war. Harry would have told him to bugger off, to let him fight like Sirius had, but the fact of the matter was that Dumbledore was right. If he stayed here, all that would happen was him dying because he got distracted because of his memories. "But what do I tell them?" he tried weakly.

"You will tell them nothing." Dumbledore confirmed. "Mr. Shackelbolt will be coming in a half hour to escort you to the airport. When you are gone, I will alert the Weasley's and Ms. Granger that I have sent you on a mission that only you were qualified for. You will receive no contact from them and any letters you send to them will be destroyed by your owl. We cannot afford the Association to learn of your existence without proper training. I warn you, Harry, the world you have entered is far more dangerous than ours. I can only hope you are ready for it."

For some time, neither of them spoke. Harry could make out the noise of voices from beyond the door to the hospital wing. It was probably his extended family waiting to greet him and wish him well. But when Dumbledore finally let them in, he would be gone. Sirius was gone, but Harry couldn't help but believe that the old mutt was having the time of his life on the other side with his parents, cheering him on. He couldn't save Sirius, and he didn't save the people in the fire, but maybe this 'mission' would teach him how. He could see the faces of two men that deserved the title of father.

"I feel that I must offer another confession, Harry." Dumbledore admitted hesitantly. "I never wanted anything like this to happen to you. I felt like you had enough problems you had to deal with. But I cannot help but wonder if this was what you were born to do. Just promise me…"

Harry looked up to see a single tear trickling down the face of a man who couldn't protect his student, much less the one he considered a grandson.

"Do not let your distortion destroy you in the end."


	3. Welcome to Fuyuki

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or Fate/stay night

**Author's Note:** The Grail of this war was originally supposed to be the Fourth, but due to circumstances related to Zero, I've established the Fifth as the setting. This Chapter is the last one for the introduction as the next one will be heading into the beginnings of the Grail War. I'm not very proud of this one, but I needed something done or I wouldn't be satisfied. Enjoy. I need a beta.

**Quote:** "To be hollow means you can be filled without limit, right?"

—Touko speaking to an unconscious Shiki

**An Ideal of Blades: Reality Marble**

†

**The Sixth Magic**

**Welcome to Fuyuki**

Albus Dumbledore, Grand Sorcerer, legendary headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, former Supreme Mugwump, and collector of mysterious artifacts, stared deeply into the eyes of each and every member of the Order of the Phoenix with an almost saint like amount of patience that did nothing to betray the boiling amount of _impatience_ that swelled in his brain like cancer. If he were to be completely honest, their lack of tack wasn't surprising in the slightest. He had imagined that something like this would occur when he finally revealed that Harry had been out of the country for a three days and not in his care as he had claimed a couple days earlier. Maybe he should have told Minerva first, allowed her to yell at him to her heart's content, and then made her tell them what happened. Yes, that would have been a splendid idea. But then again, as he brushed the spittle from his nose as his deputy headmistress roared with all the similarity to the emblem of her house, he silently disagreed with that thought. For as old as he was, he still didn't understand how the mind of a woman worked. He probably should have taken Harry's advice and took a day off – or a month. He was a walking artifact when he had received the job of headmaster, and he was as old as some ruins today. It didn't help that with old age, some people tended to get a little grumpy when the young people started to yell at them.

It didn't help that he had completely blindsided them with the excuse that Harry's wounds were strenuous that it would take many days for him to heal correctly, even with the magic their world possessed. It had been a perfectly executed reason and everyone had bought it at first. How could they not? Albus Dumbledore did not tell lies. The man stroked his beard idly. Albus Dumbledore did not tell lies indeed. However, he did tell half-truths and it was a skill made only more powerful during the years. He may have been the headmaster of a school of students who probably shouldn't have wands in their hands, but that didn't mean he wasn't as wily as a fox as he was in his prime. It still didn't change the fact that he would have much preferred to not have told them of Harry's _vacation_. After all, a majority of the Order joined simply because they wanted to keep _him_ safe as a last honor to his fallen parents and with him out of the picture, they'd likely have to start fighting Death Eaters rather than sitting outside of a muggle house under an invisibility cloak, keeping an eye on boy who didn't need watching but had some anyway in case of an emergency.

He titled his glasses upward and watched in astonishment as Hermione Granger and Molly Weasley turned to the most spectacular shade of red of which the likes he had never seen before. Truly, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. But there was nothing he could do in that regard. Sure, they had every right to be angry with him, but this was something more important than them and shouting about it wasn't going to help Harry. Neither was growling like a rabid animal if Remus Lupin was any indication. Dumbledore blinked. Funny. He was pretty sure that a full moon was nowhere near close by. He shrugged his shoulders at a particularly loud screech courtesy of the Weasley matron. Now would be the appropriate time to start the meeting. If he didn't, he'd end up deaf before his time and he didn't think Harry would have approved of this discourse anyway.

Still, it was difficult to speak with everyone shouting as they were. He knew for a fact that many hated this year and how he was acting, but now wasn't the time to release their anger. He deserved it, but he'd accept it when the war was over. It wouldn't be difficult for a spy to argue about conflict of interest and attempt to discover information on Harry's whereabouts. He couldn't offer them an accurate answer that would please them all. Not everyone in the Order cared for Harry's whereabouts and usually trusted him on that regard, but as it turns out, instead of mourning Sirius Black as they should be, as Harry was likely doing, they were arguing amongst themselves.

Molly wanted to smother the boy and keep him safe from the dangers of the world. It was an admiral cause, but it was impractical. She was not his mother, and Harry had no intention of replacing the mother he had lost, nor would he stay away from the good fight. It was his genes, his very soul, to fight for those that couldn't protect themselves. Her attempts at mothering him would come to haunt her in the coming days if Harry involved himself with the Magi as he said he would. Molly's sentiments were shared by all the Weasley's and he could make out the sight of Ginevra peeking through the cracks of the door, extendable ears in hand as the rest of the children gathered behind her.

His eyes twinkled amusedly. The other Order members had made it clear that they wouldn't involve the children in their work and Molly had sent them to bed. The fact that they had in fact, refused that order made his heart warm. Despite all the conflict they shared with Harry, they still were concerned for his wellbeing and wished him well. The boy's natural charisma had brought together what he believed would be the next generation of Britain's magical leaders. A small smile peeked from his beard as he ignored all the ramblings of his fellows. It seemed even Ronald, who on more than one occasion almost destroyed his friendship with Harry, was concerned. It seemed that even jealousy –

CRACK!

His rather amusing musings were cut short at the ring of what sounded like a gunshot, but was actually the explosion charm of what appeared to be an irritated Nymphadora Tonks. He stroked his beard as the whole room went silent. He was rather impressed. He doubted anyone else could make such a loud explosion other than himself. It was feat truly praiseworthy. The Metamorphagus's pink hair flashed a multitude of colors before turning a fiery red reminiscent of a woman beyond her years with sulfuric yellow eyes that spoke of her great anger. The fierce glare she sent Lupin's way as he made to speak sent shivers down everyone's spine before she gave Dumbledore a demanding look. He had honestly expected this response from Molly. It was nice to see that things changed.

"Ah, Nymphadora. I would thank you for calming everyone down, but I have to ask for you to repair that hole you made in the ceiling. Dear Orion would be rolling in his grave." He said kindly and his eyes didn't betray his amusement, but the Auror wasn't convinced.

Was she pulling her wand on him? It only took her a couple steps before she her wand pointed against the bridge of his nose, unaware of the commotion behind her, or Kinglsey who was ready to stun her. Dumbledore waved a hand and the black man sat down, allowing Tonks her peace. "This isn't the time to be spitting out bloody riddles!" she snarled and the tip of her wand glowed red.

The reasoning behind her anger was justifiable, so Dumbledore didn't see fit to persuade her to put her wand away. If she was truly that angry, than he probably deserved whatever she threw at him. Sirius Black had died on her watch. One of the only _good_ members of her accursed family had fallen at the hands of another and his murderer had died before she could get her hands on her. She had sworn to help Sirius receive his innocence after the war and he had died before her promise could be exacted. Harry was Sirius's godson… and the last piece of him that she had left. She could do no less for him than the same she had done for Sirius. It wouldn't be right. She had come to like the boy and to find out that he was _missing_ was not something she wanted to hear after recovering from St. Mungo's. The fact that Harry had disappeared on his watch made it all the more worse in her eyes.

"Where in the bloody hell is Harry? He was here! I saw him with you when I was being taken away on a stretcher! He was with you and you lost him! Aren't you supposed to be the Leader of the Light? Are you going to look at me in the eye and tell me you couldn't have kept him with you? For all you bloody know, he could be with the bloody Dark Lord!"

The atmosphere thickened the moment that suggestion dared to leave her lips and everyone felt Dumbledore's presence all around them like a heavy blanket trying to suffocate them in his rage. His blue eyes narrowed, all humor lost. "I am ashamed that you would believe that I would ever lose Harry when he stood with me all of people. Do you think that I would ever allow Voldemort to get his hands on the boy I almost consider my flesh and blood? How dare you." He could see the kids in the other room struggling to breathe from his killing intent so he lessened their burden. "Perhaps you should ask yourself why Harry has disappeared and I am not concerned? Why would I allow Harry to disappear unless that was his very desire and wish?"

Remus bore his teeth. "Are you suggesting that Harry left the castle willingly without the protection of any of us or yourself… and you allowed it?" he hissed. "Who in their right mind would allow such a thing? Harry needs comfort, not solitude? That boy watched his godfather die in front of his very eyes."

"As he did with his parents at the tender age of one." Dumbledore responded coldly. "What I allow Harry to do is none of your business, Remus. The boy is grieving, but he is different than other people and stronger than any of you in this room. I allowed his desire for solitude because that was what he wanted, not what others forced upon him." he waved his hand idly as if to dismiss them. "It was the boy's specific request to leave Hogwarts and I obliged him. I am aware of his whereabouts so you need not worry for his safety. Harry is resourceful."

"You do not leave a boy alone in this kind of situation, Albus!" Molly roared just like the lion she represented during her schooldays, her inner mother bellowing in outrage. "Do you know what kinds of shenanigans children can get in because of grief?"

Arthur Weasley placed a hand on Molly's shoulders. "Hush, pet. Getting angry like this isn't going to help Harry." His eyes glared at Dumbledore. "I won't deny that I'm incredibly disappointed with your choice, Albus. Surely you could have done something – "

Dumbledore interrupted him. "Not without severe consequence to the Order and Harry himself." The room silenced itself immediately and the scuffle of children outside the door echoed. Everyone ignored it in favor of Dumbledore who looked more tired than anyone had ever seen. "I could have stopped Harry's abrupt disappearance, but I didn't. I didn't because from now one, he is his own man. His battle with the Dark Lord left him with more questions than answers to the night that took Lily and James away from us. I consoled him and gave him a mission –"

Any restraint Arthur had on his wife was blown away in a single instant, the tempers of Nymphadora Tonks, Remus Lupin, and everyone's quickly following. "ALBUS DUMBLEDORE! HOW DARE YOU INVOLVE A CHILD IN THIS WAR –"

"HE IS NO CHILD!" Dumbledore bellowed and the world became silent once more. "There is no such world that have children with blood spilled all over their hands." Molly and several others paled at what he was implying and Dumbledore did not correct them. "Bellatrix had overwhelmed Harry at the Department of Ministries with the intent to kill him. Harry responded in kind and Bellatrix paid the consequences of underestimating him as you all have now."

Only the sound of dark thoughts lingered from the truth they had to face. Blood had been spilled. Normally, that would have been of no consequence. Everyone in that room knew war. Some were veterans of the first war and wars before that, while others knew of the danger and expectation of death that came with dealing with dark wizards. They all knew and understood. However, this was different. A boy had spilled blood – a boy they were supposed to protect from that kind of situation. A boy had spilled blood in _their_ war, not his, but their own and that of his parents. This war was _their_ responsibility, their burden. Bellatrix was someone who had committed great evil against them, and it was their responsibility to deal with her, and in a single instant, the boy they wanted to protect swept them away in a waterfall of anger and had done the deed himself, murdering the remains of his innocence. What kind of world did they live in where children killed because of the sins that came before?

"So the lad did the bitch in, didn't he?" The gruff voice of Mad-Eye grumbled loudly in the room and Albus peered over his glasses to get a better look at his old friend. "We tried that for years and a boy beats us to the finish. Figures." His fake eyes swerved on the headmaster. "I may be retired, Albus, but I'm no fool. Something big happened, didn't it? It can't be anything else if you took the time to hold us off and cut off any communication between us and the boy."

Dumbledore glared. "What occurred four nights ago will remain a secret… even from you."

"Albus –"

" –Alastor, forgive me." Dumbledore interrupted him gently. "What occurred at the Department of Ministries was a phenomenon that will never again occur in this lifetime and Harry is at the center of it. This event is the catalyst for more to come. And Harry will be a major factor in the battles that come of it. His fate doesn't not coincide with ours any longer. I cannot tell you what he is doing, or where he is, but know this, Harry struck a deciding blow against Voldemort that night you young men and women ventured with him into the Department of Ministries."

Everyone craned their necks as the door to the meeting room opened and the bowed head of several caught teenagers entered. Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Ginny Weasley, and Neville Longbottom stood firm against what they believed would be the greatest scolding of their life. They were prepared for it. They, more than anyone, deserved to know their friend's fate and no scolding would prevent that from occurring.

But the fierce yells they expected from their elders never came, and Albus Dumbledore greeted them with a small smile and waved his hands, five chairs forming to accommodate them. "I am aware that you have heard everything and you will not be punished for it. It is your right to participate. If Harry is going to be involved, then you will follow, regardless of we say. Ask your questions, but know that I may not answer them. It is not because I don't want to. It is because Harry needs this."

He wondered to himself what they would ask. Children were much more accommodating than adults on most occasions and these particular children had keen minds and individual skills that left a majority of their peers wanting in comparison. He also had to take in mind that he was talking to the friends of Harry Potter and not just ordinary students. Harry was a hot head, and there was no doubt in his mind that his friends inherited some of his traits.

Several moments scrunched up and her bushy hair shadowed her eyes. "Why?" she muttered weakly Dumbledore motioned for her to explain and she grew more frustrated. "Why would he just leave us here while he goes gallivanting off, trying to save everyone again? Haven't we proven ourselves enough to him?"

Dumbledore blinked. "Excuse me?"

Hermione bashed her hand against the table. "When will he ever understand that he doesn't have to be alone? It's not just him and the world! Why is he still trying to be that self-sacrificing idiot that thinks he can save anyone, even if it hurts."

Lupin frowned. "Elaborate, Hermione."

Ron spoke up. "You mean that none of you have noticed that Harry doesn't seem to care for his own life? I'm supposed to have the emotional range of a teaspoon and I knew before you? Haven't you noticed how self-destructive he is?" the red head boy acknowledged his own thoughts and turned to the adults. "Don't you think it's weird that a twelve year old boy would risk it all to save a girl he didn't really know against a sixty foot snake with a sword?"

"Or rushing off to save a girl in bathroom from a mountain troll." Neville mumbled in agreement. "Harry even risked his life for me when I thought Bellatrix was going to do me in like she did my parents. It was almost as if he didn't care –"

" – for his own life." Hermione finished gravely. Her hands clenched. "Do you know how hard it is to watch your best friend go down a self-destructive path that's only going to end with him suffering? When someone's in danger, Harry rushes off to save them, even if they're a stranger. He doesn't care for the consequences of his actions and he doesn't care if he dies either. He just does it, like he was born to save people instead of taking care of himself. I tried everything. I tried to use authority figures to make him stay put, to stop taking risks and I find that those very same authority figures I looked up to encouraged his behavior without thought of his wellbeing."

Lupin shook his head in disbelief. "Encourage him to save people? I can tell you right now that no one in this room has encouraged that young man to give his life for anyone other than himself." His brown eyes flashed amber. "We've done everything in our power to prevent it from getting to that point."

Ron pointed at his mother. "Mum encouraged it." he said, much to the surprise of everyone in the room, including his mother.

"E-excuse me? Ronald Weasley I have –"

"You thanked him for it." Hermione interrupted her swiftly. The confused looks everyone but Dumbledore sent her way infuriated her. "Harry doesn't do anything to make himself happy. He's only happy when he's helping others –saving them. When he saw you holding Ginny safely to your chest, I knew that he felt it was his duty – what he was born to do."

Dumbledore raised his hand and everyone silenced before commotion could start. "Ms. Granger, you are very astute in your observations of young Harry. I am surprised that only you five could the pieces of his distortion coming to the forefront before a couple days go."

"I noticed it when I first met him on the train." Luna piped dreamily, her eyes slightly off center as if witnessing something no one else could. "He has more nargles than anyone I have ever met. They're trying to pile in between the cracks, but Harry keeps breaking with every passing day." It was an odd summarization of Harry but no doubt accurate enough for everyone to truly understand just how different their ward was from others.

Dumbledore chuckled, his humor returning. "Indeed, Ms Lovegood. That is an astute summarization if I do say so myself." The humor smoothed from his features as he returned his attention to the other children. "Perhaps I should have been easier on you all when I told you that I sent dear Harry on a mission. This mission is nothing more than a sabbatical."

"A sabbatical?"

"Indeed." Dumbledore nodded. "I agree with every single one of you on all the points you have made about my decision regarding the handling of Harry. However, I did not send him on a mission that involved Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort. I have sent him to find the reason why he does the things that he does, what motivates him to live a life like his own."

Tonks stood up. "If that's the case, then why is that he doesn't have at least one person from the Order watching over him? On a normal occasion, I would be up for letting him have some time to himself, but You-Know-Who is still out there."

"Nymphadora," he ignored her outraged cry at the use of her first name. "A sabbatical is meant to be alone. In order for one to find his true self, distractions cannot be there to prevent him from reaching his goal. If it makes you feel better, he is beyond the Death Eater's reach and Voldemort's. For the time being, he is safe from all of this." He was in fact not lying. Harry was indeed safe from everything that was occurring _Great Britain_. He was no doubt heading into a danger zone by going into the designated area of the Holy Grail War. The War may have ended around ten years ago, but there was always the offset chance that something unexpected would occur and Harry would be in the middle of it. He had that sort of charm about him. He could only hope that Harry would stay safe.

Hermione pressed the tips of her fingers together. "So if he's safe, you can tell us where he is?"

"I'm afraid I cannot." Dumbledore ignored the outraged cries that sprung from his declaration. "Hear this and heed my words. You will know where Harry is when he wants you to. I have charmed all letters going to him to be sent back to their address. However, I never placed a charm on Harry that would prevent him from sending a letter to you. If he truly wanted you to know where he was and what he was doing, you would have gotten a letter by now." He stood up from the table, brushing dust off his robes before heading toward the fireplace. "I have nothing more to say."

"WAIT!"

Albus Dumbledore disappeared in a ball of green fire, a small smile playing under his beard. Harry Potter had decided to walk his own route to destiny, and Dumbledore had the ability to do the same. Tom would have more to fear than just Harry Potter by the end of this war.

…

**The continuation of a dream was all that was left for his bloodied hands. Vague memories with visions that speak of demise and uncertainty clouded his vision, a life of a man who was set up to take the place of another. A man destined to become the red knight that would never hold anything and be understood by no one. It was a terrible fate this man held in his hands. Yet he never retreated, never once being defeated, never once being understood.**

**He is standing in a hell that had been created with his own scarred hands. It was all that was left for him, all that he owned in a world that had cast him aside without a momentary glance or regret. He became a hero that no one remembered. It was a natural occurrence. It was an ending his allies had spoken of long ago in the past that he himself could barely remember. His battles, his victories, all led to this singular point where it all meant nothing.**

**It was natural for someone like him. He had been terribly inefficient in his youth and he wished for power, power he should have had when others needed it most. Power existed to grant the wishes of others and he accepted that. Compassion was a pleasure he could take no part in. Compassion would not save the world. Everything was balanced on a set of scales and everything that one does eventually comes back to them.**

**Someone will only get power if another pays the price for it, and he constantly paid for it in his blood, sweat, tears, and the lives of those he cared for. He had lived not for himself, but for others, and for people like him, that power eventually ran out and there was no way to replenish his empty reserves. If one could dispose of money, his situation would be exactly like that. He was used by strangers and disappeared without words or praise.**

**He drove a blade into the ground, his eyes focused on the setting horizon as winds whipped his signature coat back in a sound of flapping thunder. In the end, the path he took wasn't worth the cost he had been forced to pay. He saw many betrayals and endured twice as much, and ironically enough, for as many people as he saved, it was one of them that betrayed him in the end and forced him to be executed for a war he did everything to prevent. His compensation for all his life's work was death and betrayal, and as he was forced to kill and kill and kill thousands for the sake of millions, he realized that the path he took was the wrong one, and that in the end, it was no mortal that had betrayed and murdered him in the end. His murderer, the one who bore the knife that struck him down was his own ideals.**

…

Harry jerked awake as the plane touched down into Shinto Airport, a thin layer of sweat coating his face and dripping down his chin, leaving his messy hair more disheveled than usual. His chest heaved for air as he forced deep breaths in an effort to calm his shaking body. If there was one thing that should not bother him on any occasion, it would be visions that seemed more like they belonged in a nightmare rather than reality. He had suffered through many that Voldemort had sent to him during the years, especially at the end of this one. Anything from a murder to a fake vision was common place for him to see and he had believed that he become numb to it. Apparently, his lack of tolerance in concern to nightmares had only grown instead of lessening. He had dreamt of death before, but what that _man_ had forced himself to go through was something akin to slow torture at the hands of the owner rather than the stereotypical death others dreamt of. That man – whoever he was, had hated himself and everything he strove for in the end.

His hand twitched for any sort of weapon that could protect him from the nightmarish phantom that seemed to follow his thoughts and dreams. The words of a spell were starting to come from his lips when the passenger that had taken the seat next to him managed to speak up in time, reminding him that the use of magic in the presences of muggles usually ended up in jail time for the average wizards. That and it would be hell to explain why he was waving around a stick like a maniac with people somehow combusting for no apparent reason. He'd replace all those terrorists on the news and the whole world would be looking for the skinny British kid with the cool stick.

"It's okay, boya." The velvety voice of the passenger next to him soothed sensually. Her voice was thick with maturity and amusement. "Nothing bad is happening. It's just us landing." She had switched seats with an elder male that had been sitting beside him for the better of ten hours, switching when he last remembered being wake around two hours ago. His nose twitched at the harsh scent of tobacco permeating in the airplane, but said nothing in regards to it. She had lit a smoke around the beginning when they had transferred from Amsterdam, and none of the flight attendants had said a word, so he figured his opinion on her habits didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. Her smile made up for that tobacco smell anyway. "Is it your first time to Japan?" she asked amusedly, her voice bearing an impeccably perfect English accent when he was sure that she spoke perfect Japanese to the flight attendant she had coerced alcohol from.

"Yes, mam." He admitted with a shy smile. Harry Potter had never been the greatest speaker, at least in his eyes, when presented with a rather pretty woman. Pretty was an understatement, but the boy feared that he would exaggerate and overestimate her worth. She was a young brunette with round glasses that covered startling orange eyes that seemed to study him. she was dressed in a long orange coat with a white blouse and a formal skirt with a briefcase tucked tightly under her seat. She hadn't said a word to him the entire flight, instead focusing on marking things down in her journal while switching over to read a book. He wouldn't deny that she made him a little uncomfortable. "How about you?"

The woman laughed as if he had something funny and took a glance down at her notebook before shutting it with a resounding clap. "I've been to Japan more times then I wish to count. The place has an impeccable charm to it that keeps bringing me back." She paused, taking the time to slip her notebook into her briefcase. "The reason I keep coming back here is because of my job."

Harry blinked weakly as she took in a drag without anyone seeming to notice. "So your work takes you to other places? Do you run a business or something?" it was an honest question. There weren't that many jobs out there that forced people to travel unless they wished to expand upon a business.

"I make dolls, boya." She cracked a grin at his surprised look. "Didn't think someone that smokes on an airplane made dolls for living? You'd be surprised how many people want a really well made doll. They're really popular down here in Japan with all that cosplay and whatnot." She adjusted her glasses before they slipped of the bridge of her nose. "So what takes a fellow Brit to Japan of all places? I didn't think anyone back home cared for Japan."

Harry blinked. It was common knowledge that _British_ wizards were rather medieval in terms of how they viewed other races, both human and magical beasts, but he was sure that there wasn't that sort of animosity in Japan, at least at first. Didn't the Association for Magi hold some bearing on this place, and he was sure the Clock Tower was in London… but in reality, he guessed it didn't matter. British muggles may be the same as their magical counterparts, after all, this woman was a muggle. He scratched the back of his head.

"I'm actually taking a little bit of a vacation," Harry explained softly. "There's a lot of issues back home that my family is dealing with and I couldn't take it. My grandfather was kind enough to book a flight for me and I'm going to stay in our summer home until the matter is resolved." When people, especially adults, asked something, the ideal teenager would lie, and Harry lied like he had never lied before. It was rather satisfying, considering the scars on the back of his hand.

The woman frowned, taking a slow drag. "Aren't you a little young to be travelling on your own, boya? I take it you aren't that much older than sixteen?"

"I'll be sixteen in a month so I think it will be okay." Harry responded quickly. It was by no means a lie, but his previous lie was beginning to backfire on him. "My grandfather knows how mature I am in comparison to my siblings so I'll be fine. I know how to cook and speak Japanese. I think the only thing I'll have to do is find myself a part time job."

"Ho? So you're the mature sibling that gets to go to another country by himself, huh?" the woman mused, adjusting her glasses with an amused glint. "Well if your parents think it's okay, I can't really say anything can I? I'm not your guardian after all." She blinked as if a thought occurred to her. "So you have two siblings and you ran off on a vacation. Didn't your siblings feel the same way you do about your family's _situation_?"

Harry chuckled despite himself. He couldn't help it. He idly wondered if this was how Dumbledore felt. The old man never once told a lie, always telling the truth, but manipulating it in a way that could be convincing for others. He didn't lie if he was honest. At this point in his life, he considered Hermione and Ron his siblings, even if he harbored some resentment for both of them from past grievances. His relationship with Ron was never the same after the Triwizard Tournament and his relationship with Hermione began to fall prior to the actual tournament during their third year.

He sighed tiredly. "My siblings and I have different priorities in life." He admitted without shame. "I wanted to leave my family and get out there to see the world. My brother doesn't really have much motivation in concerns to finding a talent or career to pursue so there was no way he was coming with me. My sister on the other hand, is always concentrated on her work to the point of obsession."

"Bookworm, huh?" she smirked and he nodded with a wiry grin. She sighed, taking moment to stretch her limbs as the as the pilot announced their landing and small journey to their respective terminal for release. "I see, you're the adventurous one then. I think I understand. You must be the goody-goody if your siblings and parents are comfortable with you being off on your own."

Harry snorted. "Oh, most definitely." She chuckled at his brief moment of sarcasm. Harry rolled his eyes with some manner of amusement. If only this woman knew how many school rules and general rules on life that he had broken in a span of five years. There was a high likelihood that he had broken more rules than his father before him and that spoke of sheer talent.

"~_Mataku_…" the woman drawled in annoyance as her accent quickly changed from perfect British to nearly impeccable Japanese. She grumbled softly as she stashed away her book. "Youngsters these days all ways have money to spend. I wish I had some money to use. I wouldn't mind a good ole vacation for me, myself, and I ."

Harry tilted his head. "Didn't you say that you sell dolls? I thought they were extremely popular in Japan?" how does a business woman end up broke enough that she can't afford a vacation. The clothes she was wearing was rather expensive and the plane ticket was no joke.

The woman shook her head in exasperation. "_~Mou,_ boya-kun! You don't understand anything about woman do you? Your girlfriend hasn't explained this to you yet?" when Harry blinked in confusion, she sighed pitifully. "_Baka_, when you have grown into a strong man, you'll find that woman like to buy shiny things and that means that her paycheck is her paycheck and _your_ paycheck is her paycheck. If the woman continues to buy shiny things, then eventually you end up broke."

Harry swallowed. That line of thinking wasn't true…right? There was no way that the day he got a girlfriend would be the day that his money wouldn't be his? Would that mean he was enabling a free loader to do what she pleased? The image of a tiger came to mind and he blinked. How did tigers and freeloaders have anything in common? He would be guarding his kitchen when he went to wherever his housing would be. The urge to shield his home from freeloaders had suddenly overtaken him.

" – kun, boya-kun!" he nearly jumped as her voice hit his ears. The woman regarded him with a cool look that spoke wonders of how she felt about him ignoring her. "You'll never get a woman if you ignore them like this. And here I was, going out of my way to recommend some things to do for the new British kid, but if you don't want any advice ~"

Harry waved his hands in front of his face urgently. "N-no, please go on." now he felt like an ass. He couldn't help that his mind seemed to wander more than ever.

She smiled. "Well, as I was saying before, if you would like to go to an exceptional market or even to look for a job, I'd recommend Mount Miyama. It's close enough if you live in Miyama or just outside of Shinto and it's easily accessible by bus. After that, unless you're living there, I advise that you go to Shinto for all your clothes and shiny things that teenagers buy. And then –" she went on and Harry found himself generally intrigued by the place he was going to be living.

Fuyuki was by no means overtly large and it was much smaller than London and most places, but it appeared that there was a lot more things to do in this new country then his old one. He allowed a small smile to grace his features. In Britain, he didn't have much time for himself and thus never really knew the experiences other teenagers his age were privileged to have. The Dursley's made sure never to involve him in their affairs and to squish any joy he may have had in their household. It was disheartening, he would admit, to know that he didn't understand how to be someone his age. It would concern more than a few adults that he found it didn't bother him as much as it should have. Fun was something that he didn't put much stock into. The only things he found that could be similar to that feeling was flying on his broomstick, practicing his magic, and watching the joy of others.

When Hagrid first appeared to him, he never accepted magic because it could be fun. Deep down, Harry knew that the reason he accepted was because he wanted to make sure of something. At first, he hadn't known what that something was and it had irked him for the majority of his first year. It was only during his confrontation with Voldemort for the first time did he truly understand his desire for magic. What better use would there be for magic other than to ensure the happiness and safety of others? Was that not why his parents sacrificed themselves for him? So that he could he stop Voldemort and protect everyone from the same fate that had befallen them? It was the only line of thinking that made sense to him and Dumbledore's drabble about their reasons didn't feel right to him. What kind of person would sacrifice their life for him, he who had no feelings of pleasure in himself?

"Fuyuki sounds like a really beautiful place to live."

"It can be," the woman agreed. "But considering how old you are, I wouldn't advise you heading out at night often, especially in that town." Her words were ominous and her tone had changed from cheerful to dark so fast that it was chilling.

Harry's hand absentmindedly reached for his wand. "What do you mean? It can't be any more dangerous than walking around in the big city." There were plenty of dangers walking around London in the middle of the night and he doubted it was any worse in Fuyuki. He let a hand graze his chest. It felt like he was telling himself a lie to make himself feel better.

The woman frowned. "Well, a couple years ago, there was a nasty string of murders that happened in a span of week, but later continuing on later than that." At his skeptical look, she continued. "I don't mean the kind of things you see on the news, boya. I'm talking about full scale kidnapping and then finding remnants of the body later. The creepy thing was that they were all kids."

"W-what? That can't be…"

"I'm not kidding. Well over thirty children never made it home and the only thing police could find were various body parts and blood scattered all over town. There looked like there was a struggle trying to get them all, but whoever did the deed managed to succeed. But here's the weird feeling, they found a local freeter, Uryū Ryūnosuke dead to with several bullets in his body."

Harry frowned. "A Freeter?"

"A freeter is someone who takes up simple work that can be completed quickly with short hours, small pay, but allowing for greater free time instead of working to become a salary-man which is a commonality in Japan nowadays."

"Then what's so odd about freeter being amongst the victims other than that they found his body whole and intact for the most part?" Harry questioned sharply. The dislike for the conversation was brewing to a head as he internally began to stew.

The woman snorted. "What's odd is that when authorities investigated Uryū's, they found a bunch of macabre books on the art murder and slimy journals that detailed his killings to a disturbing degree. I bet that was surprising."

"So was he the murderer?"

The woman nodded. "Oh there is no doubt about it. It seemed that Uryū had a fascination with finding new ways to kill people, his favorite being women and children. What he did to those children will be remembered in Fuyuki for many years to come." A thoughtful look crossed her face. "The only odd thing was that he was dead at the scene."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Suicide maybe?" the boy would never admit it, but he was taking this rather well than he had before. It was disturbing that it wasn't bothering him as much as it should have, but the fact that the murderer had died in his scheme seemed to have numbed the anger. He had seen worse atrocities committed by Voldemort in his mind. Still, he couldn't deny the sick feeling that came into his stomach at the thought of parents who never knew that their children wouldn't be coming back home ever again. His heart went out to them. "Does it really matter? If he's dead, then the world is a better place."

"I can agree with that." The woman chuckled. She took off her glasses to clean them before slipping them back on again. "However there was no gun there to suggest that suicide occurred, meaning that someone had slipped into his base and killed him before the cops could reach him. That's the reason you shouldn't be hanging out in Fuyuki at night often. The townsfolk may have forgotten the danger, but there are still some of us that recognize that scary things happen in that town at night."

Harry frowned. There was an unwritten law in the universe that dictated that things that happened like that were natural to the world of the mundane. If something like that ever occurred in London, the police would stop it before it got out of hand. The only way the authorities would have failed to react would have been if Magi – Dear Merlin. He recognized the sign for what it was. Dumbledore had informed him that the _Event_ had occurred several years ago – but he hadn't explained that it was early enough for it to still be remembered by others. Thirty children – thirty lives that had only just begun, extinguished because a man desired a wish so strongly that he didn't care if others died in the process. What made it worse was that the man clearly enjoyed it.

His hands shook. "Is there anything else I should know?"

He was almost afraid to ask.

"Several years ago, after that large string of murderers, a fire was started that swallowed most of the old town in a blaze that left barely, if any survivors."_ A small boy walking amongst a blaze._ "Firefighters couldn't do anything to stop it and after burning for so long, the rain finished it off._ A large, calloused, hand grasping onto a weakening small one._ "Are you alright, boya?" she asked in concern. Truth be told, the boy didn't look good. In fact, his skin had turned a pale shade and his green eyes were unfocused. After a small while, he looked back to her.

Harry wiped his face. "I'm not a big fan of fires." That was an understatement of the century. He – someone lost a lot to a blaze that killed everything he once knew.

The woman stood up with her bags in hand. "Don't let it bother you too much, kid. Things like that haven't happened for over a decade. My family has always been prudent on warning others of the things that have happened." She began to walk away, her eyes gleaming behind her glasses. "I hope you have an enlightening trip away from Hogwarts, _Harry Potter._"

The second that name left her lips, Harry sprung upward with his wand raised, a spell on his lips. To his shock and small horror, the woman was gone, not a trace of her in sight. A bead of sweat dribbled down the side of his head. How had that woman known his name? Harry Potter wasn't even his established name in Japan. She shouldn't have been aware of his existence unless she was a friend of Dumbledore's and he highly doubted that. He let out a shaky breath. He would have to be careful from now on. His primary focus was to get out of the airport and pray to whatever god that would listen that the Death Eaters had not found his trail and followed him into Japan. It was very likely that the Dark Lord had realized he wasn't in his line of sight anymore and if that was the case, every Death Eater worth his salt would be looking for him. And with Death Eaters on the move to pursue him, the Ministry would be on their heels looking for him as well.

The Ministry wasn't bound to have many resources at the moment, but they would be after him as well. How could they not? According to the rest of the world, he was their poster boy for the greatness of British Wizards, no matter how many times the British used him as a scapegoat. If the Ministry knew that he wasn't there to fight Voldemort for them, there would be hell to pay. Still, he was safe in a Muggle airport, or at least he assumed he was. The Ministry was filled with idiots, but they were intelligent idiots. They wouldn't risk the exposure of magic to the muggle populace in order to ambush him and bring him back. The Death Eaters wouldn't risk getting into a fight with the Aurors if they tried as well. Yes, the chances of them trying to ambush him in the airport were slim to none.

Still, despite his fear of ambush, the woman had no malicious intentions about her. If she was a wizard and wanted his head on a silver platter, she had the perfect chance to kill him. The situation was perfect. They were the last to get off the plane so someone wouldn't notice she flashed the killing curse at him and then apparated afterwards. The fact that she hadn't killed him told him two things; one, she wasn't a part of the Ministry or the Death Eaters, and two, she was something else entirely and was only there to watch him for her amusement. He honestly would have preferred the former. The latter was an annoying thought and at least with the former, he could relieve his frustrations through a good duel.

He dismissed that line of thinking. There was no use crying over spilled milk. If a duel happened, it happened. But if something like that did occur, it would probably be smart to get out of the airport first. Death Eaters had patience, but not enough that they were willing for him to leave the area so that innocent people wouldn't get involved. He grabbed his bags with a sense of finality and left the plane with a nervous air about him, offering the flight attendant a polite goodbye before heading into the terminal. It didn't take him long to get out of the terminal. Besides some minor security checks that made people question why he was holding on to a pointy stick, his departure went smoothly. Well, there was that awkward occurrence where people couldn't understand why it his carry on felt like it was fifty pounds, yet they couldn't see in it. It was only after he stealthily removed the invisibility cloak that life went on as supposed to and he was allowed to leave without hassle.

He grumbled lightly as the security guard finally let him go. He hated technology with a passion. Despite being a half-blood and generally accustomed to technology due to his random use of Dudley's Gameboy whenever the piglet wasn't looking, he wasn't _educated_ enough to understand the doohickeys that airports seemed to upgrade in the name of safety. His green eyes scanned the populace and he let out a resigned sigh. In reality, the Americans were having worse than he did. Because of their different temperament, they weren't exactly patient with the airport officials and they were easy to pick out from their diversity. Harry himself didn't exactly share that problem. He looked a little Asian himself with his pale skin and raven black hair. It would be hard for someone looking for him to point him out from behind. His only real defining feature were his mother's eyes, eyes that no one had but him. Eyes that were really easy to identify if the man gesturing him over was any indication.

He was a strong looking man with pale skin and black hair graying on the edges. He wore a simple suit that looked cheap in contrast to many businessmen and he was holding a large sign that bore in all capital letters, HARRY BLACK. Harry smiled despite himself. Using the man's last name as his own was the only way he could honor one of the men he considered a father figure. The man sighed in relief just as Harry made it upon him.

He placed the sign down and offered his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Black." Harry grasped his hand tightly and shook it. "For safety purposes, you shall refer to me as Inu. Come, we have much to speak about and not much time to do it."

Since baggage claim lead directly to the parking lot, the duo managed to exit fairly easy and Harry was surprised to see a simple car of all things. Inu seemed to smile. "Dumbledore's orders. We wanted to bring you in something classier, but for the sake of staying anonymous, we had to improvise. Allow me to take your bags." Harry wordlessly handed him his bags, his mind returning to the strange woman that seemed to know who he was. He sat himself on the passenger side, strapping himself in. Inu followed quickly after strapping Harry's bags into the trunk. Turning on the car, he offered Harry a cordial smile. "I trust that you had a good flight, Mr. Black?"

Harry nodded. "It wasn't terrible. It felt a little too constricting for my tastes, though." That was an understatement. There was no comfort in flying in a giant can with wings on it.

"I've heard from Dumbledore that you like riding brooms." Inu laughed good naturedly as he drove out of the parking lot. "It is no wonder that you felt so uncomfortable. Free spirits rarely ever enjoy being in spaces where they cannot go about as they please. Still, if it makes you feel better, next time you'll be portkeyed in instead of suffering for hours on end. "

"That would be great." Harry grinned. He paused. "Your name isn't really Inu isn't it, Sir?" the man's grin slipped off his face but the smile never left his eyes.

Inu gave him a strange look. "You'll find, Mr. Black, that names hold power and that sometimes, that power can be a curse. Since you've become involved with the other part of the world, I have no issue with introducing myself to you properly. I am called Inu because my name is lost to me. I am a key member of the organization known as the Covenant." Harry stared at him in confusion. "Oh, Dumbledore didn't tell you? Well, I see no reason that he would have. We're more known to Magi then we are to our brothers who practice the Sixth Magic. The Covenant is a sect of Wizards and Magi separate from the ICW and the Association. We're not nationally recognized because we don't believe in the old ways that Magi and Wizards still practice today."

"So, you're a rebel group?"

Harry could relate to that. Hogwarts had been accosted by a regime ruled through a pink wearing toad that thought she was the second coming of Merlin. After some convincing, he and his friends had created their own insurgency to deal with the issue. Mind you, they never actually attacked anyone. If they had, Harry wondered how the different the year would have went.

Inu laughed. "I guess you could call us that if you wish. The Association and the ICW seem to think so. The Covenant is an organization that consists of a heretics so calling us rebels is appropriate. It doesn't help that we fight the system." He paused in his laughter. "Are you aware of how the Association works?" When the boy shook his head , he laughed some more. "Lad, the Association is the biggest group of stuffy backwards people you'll probably ever meet if you're unfortunate enough. You might have some experience with wizards considering you are from Britain."

Harry grumbled. "You have no idea."

" The Association is an international, self-preservative and self-defense organization formed by practitioners of Magecraft for the purpose of controlling, concealing, and developing Magecraft. It's pretty close to the ICW that you're familiar with. However, they aren't exactly as… severe in their laws in the case of using magic like wizards are." Harry raised an eyebrow and Inu snorted. "You'd be surprised how better the system is for wizards then Magi. For one, Wizards aren't allowed to experiment on people unless consent is given. I hear that its eight years in Azkaban. Magi are unlike Wizards in that regard. They're rather immoral."

"Immoral?" Harry frowned. He had an inkling on what Inu meant, but he really didn't want it to be true. He already regretted having circuits as it was.

" They do not care about hideous crimes committed by magi so long as they are not a threat that might reveal the existence of Thaumaturgy to the common public." Inu revealed gravely. "As long as it brings magi closer to reaching Akasha, anything and everything is allowed. That is the key difference between Magi and Wizards and why the Covenant was created. The Covenant consists of magi and wizards who don't follow that way of thinking. They attempt to get to Akasha without the committing of so many sins in order to do so. It's the reason we aren't recognized and generally outcasts among society. We aren't Magus in the eyes of our people."

Harry made to respond, but then stopped. He didn't know who to respond to that. He didn't know how to feel knowing that he was biologically a part of a race that had no issue experimenting and disfiguring others in order to achieve their goals. Why had he even bothered coming to Fuyuki anyway? Why was it important for him to know that his magi brethren were savages that held no love for humanity? It felt like Voldemort was given his own race. There was no good and evil, there was only power and those who knew how to use it. Would he end up like that, given time?

"Imagine my surprise when Dumbledore gives us call with a request to escort the legendary Boy-Who-Lived to his new home in Magus territory." Inu said softly. "We were just starting to get prepared so we could move to our base in China where we aren't discriminated against. Dumbledore was kind enough to pay for our expenses in the exchange that we warn you of Magi. You are in extreme danger here, Mr. Potter." He made no point to call him Mr. Black anymore. "It would be best if you didn't address yourself as Harry Potter during your stay here in Fuyuki."

He might as well have dropped ice down the boy's back, and the boy stared at him warily, despite knowing that he was hired personally by Dumbledore. "Magi…"

The man's features softened. "Indeed. You are in an unusual position, Mr. Potter. You are in a position I wouldn't wish upon you. You are just as famous in the world of Magi as much as you are to the wizards. I would even go as so far to say that you are more famous in the eyes of the Association."

Harry clenched his fists. "Why? Why am I always different? What makes me so special?" he demanded, slamming his fist against the door in a surprising move of outrage. "What makes me so important that even Magi want me?"

"…Magi walk with death." Inu responded gently. "Imagine their surprise when word comes to them that a boy no older than the age of one defied death to continue on his life without interference? The killing curse is something to be feared, my dear boy. To Magi, it is possibly the most powerful spell you wizards created, not because of its part in the great trinity, but because it holds the power to even strip the souls of Magi from their bodies. It's an attack that no one living can defend from. Many Magi and wizards have been slain from it and a young boy with experience simply brushed it aside? In their eyes, there can be nothing more remarkable.

How could a boy do such a thing, they wondered. The Magi want you to be sealed and handed over to them so they can experiment and figure out what makes your body tick in order to discover true immortality that does not come at the cost of becoming a Dead Apostle."

Harry shook his head quietly. "But I'm not immortal." The irony if he was wouldn't be lost on him. Voldemort sought immortality and if his young enemy had it… he doubted the poor Dark Lord would even be willing to look in his direction.

"That you are not." Inu agreed. "And that is exactly what the ICW claimed as well. They would not hand one of their own to the Association so that one faction could one up the other in terms of magical expertise. Seeing as you were not a Magus, the Association had no excuse to exercise some sort of hold on you. I doubted they would have accomplished even if you had been one at that point because you would technically be a free Magus. But the Association has never been fair." Harry could make out the faint image of a large western house in a small neighborhood in the Western District. "You are in Tohsaka Territory now and I advise that you stay on your toes while outside of the house."

Harry swallowed. "That isn't where I'll be staying, is it?"

"Oh?" Inu blinked. "As a matter of fact, it is. Dumbledore may dress odd and eat lemon drops for a living, but you cannot deny that when he buys houses, he buys them with style." He blinked again when Harry's head crashed into the dashboard. "Do you not like it?"

"I would have been fine with a simple house."

Inu shook his head. "While that would have been nice, Dumbledore is actually focusing on your safety." He parked neatly into the driveway. "This house is actually a former safe house for the Covenant that Dumbledore allows us to use on occasion. There isn't many places in Japan that are safer than this one. As a matter of fact, I don't think that anyone can get in who isn't granted permission from the owner."

Harry raised his head. "Why is that?"

"Well, Dumbledore installed several wards in the interior and exterior of the house and the Magi of our organization were extremely helpful in setting up a Bounded Field. Most of our Magi are considered third rate, but if you put enough third rates together, they can make something feasible. I imagine you've already been keyed into the wards."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well the fact that you haven't spontaneously combusted answered that for me."

"And you took me into the wards not knowing that I was keyed into the wards or not?"

Inu chuckled. "Well – look at that! We're here. Now come along, Mr. Black, I need to show you the house and then get on my way, big plans after all."

A muffled protest was his answer but Inu was already out of the car into the door of the house. Harry slumped into his seat. Why were the people Dumbledore kept for company just as crazy as he was? As the sunlight peeked through the car window, he couldn't stop the grin that came on his face. Despite the overall danger he was in and the stupidity of the situation he was in, he couldn't deny that maybe some time away from Hogwarts would be good for him, especially in a place as nice as this. Besides, there was only one other Magus in town from what he had heard.

What was the worst that could happen in a couple of years?

…


End file.
